A Life More Ordinary
by Yulianka
Summary: An AU story set in season two that I wrote a very, very long time ago. Conventional pairings.
1. Chapter 1

Title: A Life More Ordinary

Title: A Life More Ordinary

Disclaimer: Story—mine. Everything else—not mine.

Rating: PG-13, for some slightly off-color language

Author's Note: I wrote this story in 2001, but never got around to posting it on my account. (Yes, I actually _am_ that lazy.) However, when a friend mentioned that the website that hosted it seemed to have eaten all of my formatting, I decide it was probably time to move it over here. So here it is, dear readers: my first fic, all cleaned up and re-formatted. It'll take me a little while finish the tidying process, but the whole story should be up in a week or so.

I.

The he-loves-me glow from Vegas was fading fast. Maria had kept the torch alive for a solid two weeks, but...

It had begun to die on the trip home, when Michael had sat in the front seat of the Sheriff's car and refused to scoot the chair forward. (Maria lost all feeling below her knees.) Things had looked even grimmer when he didn't return a single one of the six phone calls she'd managed to sneak past her telephone-privilege-revoking mother.

And she didn't know it, but the deathblow was about to be struck.

As she wandered around the Crashdown, body on waitressing autopilot, Maria pondered Michael's strange lack of basic day-to-day boyfriend skills. He had a real knack for the grand gesture—telling her he loved her and walking away, getting up on a public stage to tell everyone how he felt about her. But he couldn't—or wouldn't—do any of the dozens of little, ordinary, friendly acts that most people used to show their significant others that they cared about them. Saving Maria from evil aliens was Michael's idea of a loving boyfriend-type activity. But calling her back? Letting her choose what channel to watch? Seeing a movie that he was unlikely to enjoy, like, say the new _Josie and Pussycats_ movie that Maria really, really wanted to watch?

_Not_, reflected Maria_, a chance in hell._

She was getting a little grumpy as she developed this line of thought, scooping up tips with more force than necessary and slapping the order slips on the back counter. Eyes narrowed, she snatched the coffee pot off its stand. Marching along the booths, she had just begun revising her ever-growing mental list of all of Michael's character flaws when she was rudely interrupted by the placement of a hand upon her green-skirted derrière.

Maria skidded to a halt, sloshing coffee. Slowly, she began to swivel toward the owner of the hand, a boy she vaguely recognized from school as being a jock acquaintance of Kyle's. He was sitting with several friends, and had apparently decided to demonstrate his machismo by giving his hot little waitress a manly pat on the rear.

Maria did a quick evaluation of her options. Run and tell Liz's Dad? Let Michael know? Hmm… well, she'd deal with the immediate situation herself, and then decide.

"Did you need something else, sir?" she asked, eyes wide. As she completed the turn toward him, she pretended to stumble. The hand holding the coffee pot tipped, and the boiling-hot contents poured directly onto the boy's khaki-clad groin. He screamed. "Oh," she said calmly. "Oopsie. I really need to WATCH MY HANDS, huh?"

The boy didn't answer—he was busy pouring all of the ice water at his table over his trousers.

"Well, I'll just nip on back to the kitchen and grab some extra napkins. Be right back!" Maria trilled, sauntering off toward the swinging doors.

As she pushed her way into the kitchen, Michael came tearing through the back door. "I was tossing the trash," he gasped. "What was that scream? Are you hurt? Was it a Skin?" He grabbed her arms, searching her face for signs of injury.

"Nope," Maria assured him. "This jerk—I think his name is Ryan—grabbed my butt, so I poured coffee on him. No biggie—well, unless he ever plans to have children." She held her breath, waiting for Michael to charge on out into the restaurant and kick Ryan's soggy ass...

Or at least ask if she was okay.

She was disappointed.

Instead, Michael let go of her arms and calmly went back to flipping burgers. "Oh, okay," he said.

Tiny, unholy fires began to shine in Maria's eyes. "Michael," she began, in a very quiet voice, "While, admittedly, Mr. Grabby was not an evil alien, you realize that he had his hand—his grease-coated, cheerleader-groping, football-fondling hand—on my posterior, do you not?"

Michael didn't bother to look up from his work. "Did he leave a big tip?"

II.

Maria hung up the phone and slouched further into the cushions of the break room couch. A few weeks ago Max had decreed that no one was allowed to go out alone after dark (other than himself, of course, because he needed his kingly, brood-y space) and since she was A) sans a Jetta, and B) currently ignoring Michael like she'd never ignored him before, she had called Alex's cell phone. He had sounded a little weird—short of breath—but agreed, in his winning Alex-fashion, to swing by the Crashdown in ten minutes to pick her up.

Picking at a loose thread on her skirt, she began to speculate on Alex's breathlessness. Her favorite scenario involved Alex standing tall and resolute before a distraught Isabel, who had her arms wrapped around his neck (thus his difficulty speaking on the phone) as she pleaded for his forgiveness for the whole Grant thing. He, naturally, would tell her that there was nothing to forgive. A glimmer of hope would dawn in Isabel's beautiful, teary eyes. Then Alex would disengage himself and tell her coldly that their relationship was over. Then Isabel would pursue him and he would weaken and they would get back together and live happily ever after and have cute babies with beautiful faces and goofy-looking hair. Yeah, that would be good. Maria was tired of seeing her best friends waver between a façade of indifference and total desperation. God knew she was tired of doing it. It was like relationship schizophrenia.

Not to mention utterly pathetic.

The sound of Alex's voice drifted in from the café's front. Maria gathered her things and sailed past Michael without a word. She could feel his eyes on her back as she headed toward her friend, but since she wasn't hearing any apologies for mind-boggling callousness or offers to inflict violence upon pat-happy jocks, she didn't bother to turn around. Dismissing him from her mind (a happy state of affairs that rarely lasted longer than five minutes) she bounced toward Alex, noting with disappointment that her Isabel dream seemed unlikely.

Two things led to this deduction. One, Alex was wearing an unfortunate combination of neon green shorts and a white _Calvin and Hobbes_ T-shirt that was positively dripping with sweat, and two, he had brought an equally soggy Kyle along with him. Princess Isabel, Maria reflected, was unlikely to approve of the outfit, the sweat, or the walking buddy.

"Hey, Maria!" Alex beamed at her. Kyle gave her a slight smile and she grinned at them both in return. They headed for the door and stepped out into the dim, dry heat of a Roswell spring evening. "We were playing basketball at the school when you called. Heard you sent Ryan Matthews to the E.R a few hours ago. Did you use the coffee routine?"

"Yup. Clumsy, clumsy me." Maria tried to look sad. Alex snickered.

"The coffee routine?" Kyle looked confused.

"Maria has a tried and true method for dealing with unwanted advances from customers. They pat, grab, whatever—she "accidentally" pours the hottest coffee she can brew onto their crotch. Much suffering ensues."

"Wow." Kyle looked at Maria with new respect, and more than a little fear. Then his eyes narrowed. "So, Ryan Matthews grabbed your ass?"

She nodded.

"Want me to beat him up for you?" he offered.

Maria stopped dead and stared at Kyle, her mind blank. _Kyle_ had offered to beat up Ryan. Kyle, who'd pulled her hair when she was little and made fun of her in middle school and ignored her in high school. Kyle, who was currently demonstrating an affectionate willingness to inflict violence that Michael would never dream of, unless the intended victim happened to have been grown in a tank.

He poked her in the arm. "What? Is that, like, Guerin's territory?"

"No," she replied slowly. Obviously, it wasn't. "Um, why are you offering?"

It was his turn to stare. "Is that, like, a trick question? We're friends, aren't we?"

A smile broke across Maria's face. "Yeah! Yeah, we are. All three of us. And Lizzie! Best of." She looped her arms through Kyle and Alex's, impeding the progress of other pedestrians but the only way she could express the sudden burst of love she felt for the two boys who were almost her brothers.

"Ryan could probably take me, even with a groin cast," Alex said thoughtfully. "But I could hack into his school records and change all those sports recommendations into glowing reports from the theater teacher about his brave, cross-dressing performance as the title character from _Evita_. Ryan _was_ planning on going to military school, wasn't he, Kyle?"

"You know, boys… thanks, but no thanks. I think Ryan has suffered enough. Or he will, anyway, when the blisters form."

They walked for a while, arm in arm.

"God, you two are really starting to stink."

"Yeah, and you smell _so_ much better, Maria. A certain aroma really clings to all that polyester. Can you identify it, Kyle?"

"Hmm… old fries, with hints of industrial-strength bleach and burned cow flesh."

"Ah, yes. Eau-de-greasepit."

III.

Maria repeated her "I need a walking buddy" call to Alex the next night, and again the next. By the third evening, Alex and Kyle simply arrived at eight thirty and sat on the counter stools, idly spinning, waiting in silence for her to collect her stuff and join them. The three of them trooped out of the café without a word, failing to notice the burning stare Michael fixed on their backs as they set out.

"What's with her?" he muttered, scowling at a perfectly innocent bag of hamburger buns.

"Who?" Liz inquired, as she hefted a tub of used dishes into the sink. "Or were you asking the bread?"

"Maria."

"What about Maria? Is she still mad at you? God, look, Michael, next time just punch the guy, okay? Or, at the very least, keep your mouth shut. Then I wouldn't have to listen—"

"She's not mad."

Liz stopped in mid-lecture. "What do you mean, she's not mad? Of course she's mad. She's furious."

"No, she isn't," Michael replied. "When Maria gets mad she either yells or refuses to even look at me. And she flounces everywhere. Right now, she's just walking. And she said hello to me, but nothing else."

Michael was right, Liz realized. And actually, after her initial "Michael-is-a-piglike-jerkface" rant, Maria hadn't mentioned the incident again. Liz had simply assumed Maria was still angry because she hadn't encountered Maria and Michael making out in the break room. They hadn't talked much lately—Maria seemed to be spending most of her free time with Alex or Kyle.

"It's weird," Michael continued, his voice low.

"Yeah."

They stood in silence for a minute, now both scowling at the package of hamburger buns.

"Not her usual Michael-is-a-jackass behavior."

"Well, you _would_ be the expert on the many nuances of Maria rage, wouldn't you, Michael?"

"Thanks, Liz."

oooo

Maria, Kyle and Alex were sprawled on the Deluca couch, eating popsicles and watching _Space Ghost_.

"The little Timmy episode was the best one."

"Yeah."

"Yup."

They had spent the evening in perfect channel-surfing harmony, having decided that they were too lazy to go out and get a movie. On the flickering set, Ghost Planet blew up.

"Thanks to us," Kyle muttered, "Earth has thus far managed to avoid that fate."

"Actually, all we really did was save the _people_ on Earth. No explosions were actually averted."

"Details, Whitman. Mere quibbling."

"No, he's right," Maria shifted slightly. "Really, if we'd just left things alone, humanity would currently be so much compost. Or gone altogether, in my case… hey, we'd finally have really done something good for the planet!"

Alex nodded sagely. "The ultimate environmentalists."

"Maybe next time we should just paint bulls-eyes on our chests and lie down?"

"Hey—if you guys are going to get all morbid on me, I'm heading home," Kyle interrupted, sitting up. "If I want angst, I have my very own alien teen drama queen sleeping in what used to be my bedroom."

"Sorry, man."

"Sit down, Kyle," Maria grinned up at him in apology. "Look, I hereby declare this an angst-free zone, okay?"

Kyle sat back down, mollified. "Okay. But no whiny 'we might as well be dead crap', got it? We have saved the world, people, which means we, without question, kick ass."

"We could start a club," Alex grinned. "All you'd need to do is offer proof that you have averted a planet-wide disaster and pledge to be drama-free."

"Heh. Who'd be president?"

"_Me_," they all said in unison.

"We could share," Maria decided, warming to the idea. "We'll make new members do boring stuff like take notes and make coffee or whatever."

"What would we call it?" Alex wondered.

"The End-of-the-World-Averters club?"

"Boooooring. Alien-Ass-Kickers Anonymous?"

"Stupid."

"Ooh, as compared painfully trite, jockman? The Planet Avengers?"

"Heh. No way, dork."

"Look, children, we can decide later," Maria continued, averting the male bickering with a smoothness born of much practice. Obviously, she thought, she would need to be the _real_ president. "We need to focus on important stuff, like a… secret handshake, and a theme song."

Silence settled over the three as they furrowed their brows in thought, staring at the TV.

"_It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine…."_

TBC (And soon, 'cause I wrote it seven years ago.)


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews—it's really nice to hear that people still remember this story!

IV.

The next morning Maria bounded down the hallways of West Roswell High. Half her brain was reviewing the history notes for sixth period and the rest was wondering whether Pam Troy's spangled orange halter-top was more evocative of Christina Aguilera or RuPaul. Really, it was such a thin fashion line—

She was jerked from her reverie by a large hand closing firmly about her wrist. Maria was thrown off balance (bouncing at high speeds requires grace) and she nearly pitched herself headfirst into the water fountain.

"God, watch it, Michael!" she exclaimed, nose inches from the gum stuck to the faucet. "Ew, doesn't anyone ever clean these?"

"I need to talk to you."

"Oooh, Spaceboy wants to engage in a nasty human-type activity! To what do I owe the honor?"

"Knock it off, Maria. You still pissed about that Ryan guy?"

"No." She gave him a sunny smile.

He scowled. "Cut the crap. Look, I don't have time for teen games and you know it. I have more serious problems than some jerk grabbing your ass. You're fine now, right?"

Maria's smile disappeared. "That's not the point. And I'm NOT playing games."

"Bull." It was the wrong thing to say. Nearby students, well aware of the Deluca reputation, stopped eavesdropping and evacuated ground zero.

"...you don't like me much, do you, Michael?" Maria's voice remained even. "You know, sometimes I don't like you much, either."

Michael experienced a bizarre clutching feeling somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach. Maria criticized his hair, his table manners, his boyfriend etiquette, but she was rarely this direct. He blamed his sudden queasiness on the seven Tabasco-laced cream doughnuts he'd had for breakfast.

"You said you loved me, but we're not even friends," Maria continued, her eyes steady on his. "And I just settled for whatever you were willing to give. But that's not going to work anymore, Michael. I think I need to grow up a little."

Michael swallowed. For some reason his mouth was totally dry. _Must be the heat_, he thought. "So?"

"So," Maria said, her voice abruptly lighter, "I'm gonna erect my own stone wall where you're concerned, Guerin. And until you can prove that you actually like me—not making out with me, not saving me from the dangers of associating with alien soldiers—we're through."

"And where have I heard that before?" Michael tried to sound sarcastic. The effect was ruined by a tiny squeak at the end.

"Oh, don't worry." Maria's smile was sudden and beautiful. "This time I'll make the same concessions _you_ make whenever YOU say we're through. Whenever I'm overpowered by my baser passions, I'll be sure and look you up. Of course, you are free to turn me down. Gee," she bit her lip, eyes wide, "I sure hope our hormones operate on the same schedule, otherwise we may _never speak again_."

Maria patted Michael's cheek in farewell and resumed her bouncing progress down the hall. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this liberated. She could hardly wait to tell Lizzy—wait. She couldn't talk to Liz about anything alien related without getting into Liz's personal drama, and she was in way too good a mood to sacrifice it. Oh well, Alex and Kyle it was! They'd probably appreciate the humorous aspects of blowing off one's otherworldly significant other more than Liz anyway.

ooooo

She couldn't find her co-presidents until after school, but as the three of them ambled toward the Valenti house for their first club meeting, Maria recounted her Michael triumph in detail.

"Way to go, Deluca!" Kyle thumped her on the back, making her stumble into a decorative cactus. "Uh, sorry."

Alex knelt and helped her pick needles out of her knees. "Yeah, congratulations, babe." He smiled up at her. "Maybe our club name should be about humans who reject alien love."

They both stared hard at Kyle.

"What? Hey, Tess doesn't yank me around the way Isabel and Michael do you two."

"Reallllly, Kyle? Hey, Alex, who does this sound like? Hi, Kyle, I want you to devote yourself to me—adore me, protect me, _shop_ with me—but if Max Evans calls, could you leave the house?"

"I dunno, but you're right, it does sound familiar."

"Bite me, both of you."

They did.

"OW! You guys are such freaks, you know that, right?"

"That's why you love us, and why our little group venture is going to be such a success!" They walked up the Valenti driveway. "All we need is a decent club name and we can begin to take over the world!"

"What club?"

Three heads jerked up. Tess Harding stood in the open doorway of the Valenti household.

Maria and Alex looked trapped. Kyle looked like he'd been hit with a blunt instrument—Tess had evidently decided to beat the heat by changing into a bikini top and shorts.

"Um..." said Alex.

"Uh..." said Maria.

Kyle continued to drool.

"Our—our glee club!" Alex announced.

V:

Tess's brows shot into her bangs. "A glee club?"

"Yup." Maria shot Alex a dirty look. "Because, you know, Alex and Kyle have SUCH lovely voices."

Tess stepped out onto the porch, moving slowly, sinuously closer to Kyle. "Really, Kyle? You sing?"

"Oh, yeah." Kyle still bore a startling resemblance to a deer in headlights. "...you betcha."

"Would you sing for me?" She batted her lashes. Who did he think he was fooling? Still, torturing Kyle was always fun. "Pretty please?"

"Of course, Tess." Maria grabbed Kyle and Alex's arms in a grip of iron. "Just let us have a quick little pre-show huddle, okay?"

She marched her co-presidents down to the mailbox, resisting the urge to propel them along by the ears. "So, boys? What now? I've heard you two sing—you sound like an out-of-tune Burt and Ernie."

"Now we sing." Alex said firmly. "Uh, Kyle, you know the words to anything other than _American Pie_?"

"Not really. I could probably fake a few verses of _Here comes the Sun_."

"Ooh, _American Pie_? That cute Madonna song?" Maria's voice was innocent. Alex twitched.

"Good God, Maria—you're gonna kill me! It is _not_ a cute Madonna song," he ground out. "That was an ABOMINATION." A vein throbbed in Alex's forehead. Few things upset him more than Maria's God-granted combination of natural musical talent and extraordinarily bad taste.

"Chill, Alex. Just kidding. _American Pie_ it is."

And _American Pie_ it was. In tune—more or less.

"You know," surprise was evident in Tess's voice. "That actually wasn't too bad."

Maria, Alex and Kyle's shoulders slumped with what they hoped was unnoticeable relief.

"Now tell me what you're really doing."

ooooo

After six minutes of faking confusion, four more spent stalling, and two escape attempts, Maria, Alex and Kyle spilled all.

"So," Tess said slowly. "A secret club, huh? Why secret?"

They gaped at her. "Imagine trying to tell Michael Guerin or Isabel Evans that their teen dramas are getting on our nerves, Tess. Is that a pretty picture? They'd annihilate us. And Max and Liz would probably cry. We don't want to hurt anyone's feelings—we just want a few regularly scheduled hours of normal childhood per week."

A flicker of _something_ flashed in Tess's eyes. "Um, what are you going to call it?"

"Well, that's kind of an issue right now," Maria said, embarrassed. "We want a name that says something about our no-drama pledge—you know, something that says "Hello, world, we've decided to stop inflicting pain upon ourselves, seeing as everyone else seems to want to take care of that for us." Something about standing against teenaged, angsty nitwits."

Tess looked thoughtful. "That might work, except for the fact that the acronym would be SATAN."

"Wow," breathed Alex. "Think of the fun we could have with club posters."

Kyle snorted. "Fund drive for SATAN!"

"And charity work. This week SATAN will be serving at the Roswell Soup Kitchen."

"Heh. Or selling candy! Hello, ma'am, I'm selling chocolate for SA-"

"We get the point, boys". Maria was rapidly discovering the downside to having an all-male clique—the guy tendency to get lost in admiration of what they fondly believed to be their stunning wit. _It must be the flawed chromosome_, she thought sadly.

"I guess I should take off, then," Tess said, with slightly forced cheerfulness. "Have fun, guys." She scrambled up from her spot on the steps and turned back toward the cool of the house.

Three pairs of eyes stared hard at the ground, and then looked up at Tess's retreating back. If an impartial observer had been watching Tess Harding very, very closely, they might have noticed that her feet dragged just the tiniest bit as she approached the screen door, as if she were nursing an itsy-bitsy hope that someone would stop her.

Maria sighed. "Hey, Tess? You saved the world, right? Good-bye, Skin army? Um, are you _really_ attached to all that "I must marry Max Evans and bear his children even though we're only seventeen" stuff?"

Tess was very still. "Not anymore."

"...so, do you want to join?"

When she turned around, Tess's smile was blinding. "Yes."

"Okay," said Maria. Her smile was softer, a little wry, but totally sincere.

At this point, Alex totally ruined the mood by doubling over with laughter. "We could have club dances," he gasped. "SATAN's sock-hop."

VI:

Maria was distracted from her battle to force the last of her books into her frighteningly overcrowded locker on Tuesday by a light tug on her sleeve. "Just a sec," she said, abstractedly. Pushing the locker as far closed as it would go, she twisted, rammed into it with her shoulder, and rapidly twirled the lock. The quivering metal gave an ominous creak, but it seemed to be holding. For now. "Tomorrow," Maria murmured, running her hand soothingly over the slightly bulging metal surface. "Tomorrow I'm gonna clean you out, okay? Or maybe Thursday. Friday at the latest."

"Is this a bad time?"

"Huh?" Maria started. "Oh, hey, Tess. What's up?" They started walking toward the exit.

The smaller blonde cast a worried glance over her shoulder at the still-groaning locker and slightly quickened her pace. She really hoped she wouldn't be there when it blew—

"Tess?"

"Oh, sorry. Um, remember when you guys said I could pick any club position I wanted?"

"Sure—if you want, you could be a president too. We'll all be presidents!" Maria bounced.

"No, that's okay," Tess said hastily. She really didn't envy Maria the chore of trying to restrain Kyle and Alex. The pair actually seemed to amplify one another, growing more than doubly exuberant. "Actually, I was thinking about what you guys said—about wanting a regular childhood? And I know I'm hardly the expert on regular childhood behavior, but I was thinking that I could maybe be in charge of planning group activities and stuff? Um, I'd totally understand if you said no—"

Maria laughed, cutting her off. "Tess, by the power invested in me as the one-thirds president of the tentatively-titled SATAN club, I hereby name you Activities Coordinator."

"Cool." Tess smiled hugely. "Because I've got a plan."

Blissfully unaware of Michael Guerin's dark, unhappy eyes following them, the two slipped out into the bright Roswell afternoon.

****

Alex sighed. Maria and Tess had left without him, Liz had already drifted home in the unhappy daze she seemed to have lost herself in, and Kyle had practice. So here he was, sitting in the front passenger seat of the Evans family Jeep, making hideous small talk with his icily polite ex-girlfriend and her morose, monosyllabic brother.

"So, this puppy must really suck up gas, huh?" Next time he'd walk the six damn miles. Six miles was _nothing_.

Max grunted. Isabel, rolling her lovely eyes, nodded. "And how have you been, Alex? We've seen so little of you lately."

"Ah, good. Yeah. Good. More or less." _Please, Lord, strike me down_, begged Alex.

"Michael said you've been spending quite a bit of time with Kyle and Maria recently." Michael had said nothing of the sort, of course, but Isabel would rather rip out her tonsils by hand than admit that she'd been keeping a discreet eye on her ex-boyfriend's activities.

"Uh, yeah. And Tess, actually."

"Oh?" Isabel's well-groomed brows snapped together, her scowl directed squarely at the center of Alex's shoulder blades. _Tess_ was joining Alex's little fan group? Why? Isabel considered herself a just young woman, but if Tess Harding thought that just because Isabel had been blowing off Alex's advances for the past year that SHE could have him, well, then Tess had another thought coming. Tess could find her own loving, funny, cute, totally supportive human male. There were probably plenty to pick from.

"Isabel?" Alex craned his neck around to peer at her.

And if Alex thought that HE could just fall for Tess Har—"Yes?"

"I asked what you've been up to lately."

"Oh, nothing special," Isabel began, her voice elaborately casual, eyes still slits. "What with school and worrying about you-know-what recently, I've hardly had any time to myself. I did go rock climbing with Timothy Rush, though. You know, the captain of the basketball team? He packed a picnic lunch. It was really sweet of him."

_It was_, thought Alex as he resigned himself to another four miles of listening to Isabel reminisce about her adorable date with some high school jock god, _like a sneak preview of hell. _

VII:

Kyle was rather suddenly roused from sleep on Saturday morning by the unusual sensation of a glass of icy water being poured over his head. He shot up, flinging water droplets everywhere, and glared at his assailant.

"God, Kyle, you sleep like the dead," Tess scowled at him, annoyed. "Now get up. Maria and Alex are waiting for you—we're supposed to be at the park in an hour, remember? We're having a meeting."

He glanced at the clock. 7:02 AM. Kyle groaned, flopping back onto his now-soggy pillow. He'd seen Tess in commando-mode before—when she was this organized, everybody better A) obey her every command, and B) try to stay out of sight. In fact, she was startlingly reminiscent of the way Isabel Evans got around, say, mid-December. He wondered if scary efficiency was an all-girls thing, or an alien-girls thing. He hoped it was an alien-girls thing, because he figured that there were fewer alien-girls than regular-girls, so that would probably mean less pain—

A well-aimed towel landed on his face. "GET UP!"

ooooo

Exactly fifty-eight minutes later, Kyle, Alex, and Maria lay on the ground just inside the entrance of the Roswell City Park, waiting for Tess to appear. "So, do you know what she's got planned, Maria?" inquired Alex, eyes shut. Maria didn't answer. She had gone back to sleep. Kyle allowed one eye to rest while he squinted through the other, keeping watch for a wavy blonde head. Just as he was about to switch and give the other eye a workout, Tess rounded a corner. Nudging Alex with his boot, who in turn gently tugged at Maria's hair, the trio sat up, stretched, and sleepily greeted the newest member of their little team.

"Hey, guys," Tess wasn't sure if she was more nervous or excited—these were the first real friends she'd ever had and she really, _really_ didn't want to screw things up. "Ready for some carefully planned, non-dramatic entertainment?"

"Always," Maria squinted up at Tess and held out a hand to be pulled to her feet. "Uh… where?"

"Follow me." The group trudged along in silence as Tess led them to a secluded corner of the park. A picnic table had been set up, featuring a net-dome-covered plate of what appeared to be peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches, a jug of something looking suspiciously like Kool-Aid, and, as a final touch, an industrial-sized bag of gummy worms. Beside the food rested a neat stack of coloring books and a huge box of crayons.

Maria stared. Was that a Powerpuff girls coloring book she saw? And oooh—gummy worms! God's own snack food!

Alex stared. _Not this time, Deluca_, he thought, glancing at his best friend and seeing the naked greed in her eyes. _Finally, finally I have longer legs—those gummy worms are MINE. _

Kyle stared. If Tess was ever a parent, he reflected, she'd plan one hell of a play date.

Tess shifted, uncomfortable with her companions' wide, unblinking gaze. Maybe her idea hadn't been as entertaining as she'd thought. "Well, I thought maybe we could re-live some early childhood stuff—well, you guys would re-live it, I'd just… live it. And then we could move forward, sort of bring me up to speed." She trailed off. "You guys think I'm an idiot, don't you?"

She was interrupted as Alex and Maria shot past her, sprinting toward the bag of gummy worms like speeding bullets. Alex, taking advantage of longer limbs, arrived a split second before Maria and snatched up the bag, laughing as he held it high above his head. Maria jumped for it a couple of times, then decided to solve the height problem with a swift jab to the stomach. When Alex doubled over, she grabbed the bag and fled for the trees. Clutching his ribs, Alex headed after her.

"Wow," breathed Kyle. "You sure pegged them." He was feeling more than a little superior about his maturity level. Then he noticed what was propped up against the leg of the picnic table. "Tess?" he whispered. "Is that a whiffleball set?"

"Uh… yes?" Tess said uncertainly. She was still a little taken aback by Maria and Alex's reaction to her vision of early childhood fun.

Kyle turned to her, his smile blinding. The heart that Tess had begun to conquer with potatoes had just fallen, defeated by a plastic bat, at her feet.

ooooo

Maria, Tess, Kyle and Alex were exactly sixteen minutes late to the weekly strategy meeting. As they tumbled, laughing, into Michael's apartment, four heads snapped up. Eight eyes glared.

"WHERE IN GOD'S NAME HAVE YOU BEEN?" thundered Max, a vein throbbing in his head. The tardy quartet froze.

"Uh… Dunkin' Donuts?" Alex tentatively held up a grease-spotted bag. "But we brought you guys some."

"I SAID TO BE HERE AT EIGHT!"

"Chill, Max," Tess said, unexpectedly. Her voice was tinged with a dry, sarcastic edge that Max had never heard from her before. "We're not your subjects, remember?" She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it over a chair before settling onto the couch. Kyle quickly dropped down next to her, their shoulders just barely touching.

Max's mouth opened and closed twice. He seemed to be at a total loss for speech.

Liz stared hard at the ground, blinking away tears. She had seen who Alex and Maria had arrived with, and the betrayal of it quivered in her soul. How could they do this to her? How? She might as well just leave Roswell altogether. Again. If her friends weren't going to be there for her....

"Hey, babe," said Alex and Maria in unison, plopping down on either side of her. They had discussed calling her earlier that afternoon, but agreed that Liz wasn't ready to take the no-drama plunge just yet. They decided instead to head over to the Crashdown after closing on Sunday with videos and ice cream. Maria was hopeful that the combination of Liz's two best friends, vanilla ice cream, and some vintage Muppets episodes would be enough to snap Liz out of martyr-mode.

Liz sniffed hard, calming down slightly. It was hard to feel totally abandoned when Maria immediately started braiding her hair and Alex fished around in his donut sack to present her with an enormous, squashy maple bar.

"Uh," began Michael, looking uncertainly at Maria, who had yet to look in his direction, "You guys want something? To drink, I mean?"

Tess shook her head, smiling. Kyle and Alex got up and headed for the kitchen. They were always ready to investigate a fridge—even Michael's. "Maria?" Michael asked.

"No, thank you. But please help yourself to a donut." She gave him a brief, impersonal smile, her eyes never leaving Liz's dark hair. _Damn it_, thought Michael with a sudden flare of frustration, _why won't she LOOK at me?_ Trying to discomfit her, he crashed down on the floor next to her, purposefully brushing his hand against her denim-covered thigh. It didn't work—Maria simply moved away, her face betraying nothing. Irritated, Michael made a low, growling sound in the back of his throat.

_See how YOU like it, Spaceboy_, thought Maria with an inward grin.

Alex wandered in from the kitchen and found Michael in his spot by Maria and Liz. Shrugging, he flopped down on the couch next to Tess, who was trying to rub a spot between her shoulder blades that was just out of reach. "Here," he said, pulling on her arm. Without question, Tess slid off the couch to sit in front of him. Putting down his drink, Alex settled his hands on her shoulders and began to knead. Still rubbing, Alex leaned forward and whispered something in Tess's ear that made her snicker, her eyes flickering shut.

Isabel's glare could have peeled paint. How DARE they? TESS and Alex? ALEX and Tess? Did Kyle know about this? She'd noticed the looks he'd shot at his housemate when he thought no one was looking. How could they be so insensitive to poor Kyle's feelings, flaunting themselves like that? It was shameless! And... and... heartless! Her mental tirade was cut short by Kyle's arrival on the scene. Isabel held her breath, waiting for him to look as betrayed as she refused to admit she felt. Instead, he simply sat down next to Alex and offered to take over masseuse-duties. Without fanfare, Tess scooted over. Alex stretched out his long legs and picked up his half-eaten donut and cup of milk. _Hmm_, thought Isabel, Alex didn't _seem_ overly upset by Tess's preference for Kyle's hands. Still, it might not hurt for her to reel the boy in a trifle. "Alex_,"_ Isabel said sweetly, smiling at her prey, "Would you mind getting me some juice?"

Alex's eyes shot up and then returned to focus intently on his glass. "Uh, sorry, Isabel. Michael's all out." This seemingly innocuous statement was laden with deeper meaning. A few weeks ago, Alex would have offered to go to the store, buy some fruit, and hand-press Isabel her drink of choice, and everyone in the room knew it. Tess reached over and patted his foot. Maria and Kyle smiled at him. Max, Michael, and Liz looked confused.

Isabel reeled with shock.

"Well," Max cleared his throat uncomfortably and stood up. What was going on with everyone? Alex refusing to do something for Isabel? Maria ignoring Michael? Tess being snippy with him? Liz... he refused to think about any out-of-character acts Liz had engaged in lately. These were like the signs of the Apocalypse. "Uh, has everyone had a chance to settle in? Good. So—do we have anything to report?"

There was a long silence.

"…anybody?"

Another pause.

Maria snickered. "Meeting adjourned."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

As always, thanks for the reviews!

VIII.

"You know," mused Liz, licking her spoon, "This is one sexist show. I'm amazed at you, Maria."

"Huh?" Maria stopped dancing to the Swedish Chef's bork-bork song and stared at her friend.

"I mean, there are virtually no female characters, and the one that the show focuses on most is a crazed, pretentious, violent, over-sexed pig. Meanwhile, there are dozens of male characters, and, okay, _some_ of them are crazy, pretentious, violent, or over-sexed—but nobody is as whacked out as Miss Piggy. How can a budding feminist like yourself justify feeding this kind of insidious message to children?" Trying to look lofty, Liz pointed her spoon at Maria. "You even paid for this, didn't you?"

"But—but…" Maria was reeling with this attack on her favorite show. "But the Chef! And the old guys at the end! I LOVE those guys!"

"There were the chickens," Alex recalled. "Oh, and that female musician."

"Glorified extras," Liz scoffed, waving her spoon in dismissal. It had been almost two hours, and Maria and Alex's hopes were high. Kyle and Tess had agreed (Kyle easily, Tess reluctantly) that if Liz managed to last two consecutive hours without Tess-bashing, Max-bemoaning, or any long, painful silences, Maria and Alex could tell her about the club. One hour and fifty-seven minutes in, Maria and Alex were beginning to feel the pressure.

"That _Arthur_ show, now—that's some really well-balanced kid programming." Nodding to herself, Liz took another bite. "I like the Brain character—he's sort of quiet and sensitive, like—" she broke off.

Maria and Alex held their breath.

"Ralph the piano player," Liz finished. "But, admittedly, neither one of them will ever be the sex god Kermit was."

Alex's watch beeped. "YES!" shrieked Maria, leaping to her feet. Grinning maniacally, she turned to Liz and opened her mouth—

"Sit, Deluca. I get to say it, remember?" Alex firmly pushed Maria back into her chair. "Elizabeth Ann Parker, we are SATAN's new recruit team, and we were wondering...."

ooooo

"Come _on_, guys, they're gonna close in two hours!" Maria had been forced to resort to the full-blown whine. "We have a lot to cover! Park the damn car already—just run over that Pinto, this monster's big enough."

"God, the books aren't going anywhere, Deluca." Kyle stared at the cheerfully lit, monolithic bookstore as Tess tried to maneuver her SUV into one of the ocean of compact spots. "Why does Tess need this stuff tonight, anyway?"

"_Because_, Kyle," Maria began in a patient tone, "bedtime stories are a vital part of any happy childhood. And between the four of us, we should be able to pick out some kick-ass books." She lowered her voice to a whisper as they climbed out of the car, speaking directly into his ear. "Then you get to read them to her. At night. In her room. Got it, dimwit?"

Kyle nodded enthusiastically, immediately lost in a happy dream.

"So what's your favorite book, Tess?" Maria bounced on the tips of her sneakers. If Lizzy would just open her mouth, this would be fine. _C'mon, Lizzy_, she thought, _what happened to the sixteen years your parents spent drilling good manners into your head?_

"Um, _The Age of Innocence_, by Edith Wharton."

"I love that book." Liz spoke hesitantly, her dark eyes meeting Tess's blue ones. "Did you read her short story—the one about the two women in Rome?"

"Yeah. It was pretty sad, huh?"

"You mean when the two sort-of friends found out that they had hideously betrayed one another over a guy who obviously wasn't worth it?"

"That's the one." Tess stared at the ground.

An awkward silence fell. This time, Maria, Alex, and Kyle held their breath.

"They were both idiots," Liz said finally. "We'll find you some more fun books tonight."

Tess's head slowly lifted, a tentative smile on her face. "Great."

ooooo

Maria tried to balance a copy of _The Phantom Tollbooth _on top of her already precarious stack of books. Weaving slightly, she headed toward the coffee shop. Tess sat there, listening as Liz tried to sell her on the virtues of buying the entire _Little House on the Prairie_ set and Alex argued passionately in favor of Susan Cooper's _Dark is Rising_ sequence.

"I think you should buy them all. They're all classics," Kyle said, trying not to sound too desperate. _Wading through that pile would take weeks_, he estimated. _Weeks of tucking Tess in at night, just the two of them…._

"If you say so." Tess smiled. "What have you got, Maria?"

"Only the best food book in the whole world," she announced triumphantly, dumping her pile on the table. "Ta-da!" With a flourish, she presented Tess with a paperback edition of _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_.

"Ohhhh, we _so_ have to watch that movie again," Liz said. "The candy..."

"The chocolate milk..." Alex's eyes had a similarly glazed look.

"I'll read it to you," Kyle said eagerly, poking Tess in the shoulder. _There was even a sequel_, he thought gleefully. _A really long one._

IX:

Ignoring the first bell of the school week with ease born of much practice, Michael Guerin watched as his on-and-off significant other attempted to open her dangerously overstuffed locker without being buried under an avalanche of crumpled papers, candy, and books. Maria cautiously worked out a book from the middle of the pile, wincing as tubes of lip gloss, hair ties, and photographs spilled out into hallway.

"Here." Michael scooped up the runaway items and handed them to her.

"Thanks," Maria turned to him, giving him his first full view of her outfit—a pale, fluttery shirt with cap sleeves and delicate embroidery, a short denim skirt, and lace-up sandals. Michael knew, rather than appreciated, that she was beautiful. "What are you doing here so early?"

"Uh, waiting. For you. To show up. Which you did. Finally." _Eloquent, Guerin,_ Michael thought, rubbing a hand over his face. _You're such a poet._

"…And?"

"And what?"

Maria took a deep, calming breath. "And why were you waiting for me, Michael?"

"No reason."

Maria took another deep, calming brea—_Screw it_, she thought, _he's nuts_. "Okay, Michael. Look, why don't you spend your day pointlessly waiting for someone else?" Scowling, she tried to shove her locker shut.

"Look, wait," _You can do this_, Michael assured himself. "Youwannacomeovertonight?"

Maria blinked. "You'll have to run that one by me again, Spaceboy."

"Do. You. Want. To. Come. Over. Tonight."

"Why?" Maria was suspicious. Michael never invited her over—she showed up, without knocking. That was their pattern. What was he trying to pull?

"To watch a movie," Michael muttered. Maria still didn't look convinced. "And talk. Or whatever." _Damn it,_ he thought, _why was she being so difficult? _

"Maybe. When?"

"Eight."

"Okay." Michael stared at her for a moment, nodded, and slouched off down the hall.

ooooo

Maria stood outside Michael's door, totally at a loss. Did she knock? Walk on in? Wait for him to intuit her presence and open the door? Three emergency phone calls after school had been devoted to interpreting Michael's bizarre new behavior patterns and she was still confused about his purpose in asking her over. Tess and Liz had agreed that the evidence seemed positive, but was ultimately inconclusive. (The third call had been cut short—Maria had tried Kyle in hopes of a male perspective. Unfortunately, when she opened the conversation with the words "Okay, Kyle, pretend you're a guy—", he hung up on her.) Closing her eyes and hoping she was making the right move, she knocked.

"It's open." Michael's gruff voice could be heard faintly over the sounds of his neighbors' TV.

Maria stepped inside, surveying the apartment cautiously. _Hey, had he cleaned? Wait—what if that was a sign he was really an evil alien pretending to be Michael? Damn. Only one way to find out._ "Kiss me," she demanded.

Michael's eyes widened. "Okay." Nearly leaping over the couch, he pushed one hand into her hair, tilting her head up and lowering his mouth to hers. His suddenly high hopes of a really, really easy reconciliation were dashed, however, when Maria immediately pulled back, still looking wary.

Maria scrambled for a question only Michael would know the answer to. "Uh, what did you give me for our two-week anniversary?"

Michael scowled. "What the hell are you babbling about?"

Yup, it was him. "So," sighed Maria, crashing on to the couch, "What are we watching?"

"_Romeo and Juliet_—the last one." Michael grabbed the remote, glaring at Maria as she pretended to fall off the couch in shock. "What? I like that movie."

"So do I," said Maria, sitting back up, "I'm just surprised you would be willing to let it besmirch your strictly porn-and-hockey television set."

"Thanks. Now shut up, it's starting."

On the dusty TV set, a smaller screen appeared, filled with static.

"Two households, both alike in dignity/

In fair Verona...."

ooooo

Maria straightened, wiping her eyes. That had to be the saddest damn ending in the history of movies. She and Michael sat in silence for a minute, watching the closing credits.

"So," Michael began. "That movie is sort of how I see us."

This time, when Maria fell off the couch her shock wasn't feigned. Lying on the floor in a heap, she immediately lost herself in a beautiful daydream. It was their wedding, and she glided toward Michael in Juliet's gorgeous, fifties-style dress, hair perfect...

"Only I'm more like Juliet," he continued.

_Okay_, thought Maria, _that was unexpected_. She sat up. "Huh?"

"Well, this is my theory about Romeo and Juliet, okay?" Michael didn't look at her as he spoke. "Romeo and his friends are free, wandering about, falling in and out of love. Juliet is closed off—she's secluded from the world outside. They meet, and Romeo kind of mistakes her for having access to a better, more interesting world. He doesn't really fall in love with _her_; he falls in love with what she represents. Like—being attracted to the mystery of another person. He's been in love before, though, and he probably will be again. But Juliet hasn't, and she won't. She's too isolated to fall in and out of love. This is it for her—and then her personal dramas kind of spill out into their relationship and they both die. But they don't even know one another. If they'd even been married for a few weeks, Romeo probably would have decided they were terrible together, and moved on to someone else, someone easier...." Michael trailed off, staring at the static that now buzzed across the television.

Maria simply looked at him, stunned. First she thought he'd lost his mind. Then she thought about what he'd said. They sat together in silence, listening to the videotape running out. "You know," she said finally, speaking half to herself, "I really like your hands, Michael."

"What?"

"Your hands," she said again, quietly. If he thought she only liked him because of his alien nature, well, he was an idiot. "And your sense of humor, and the fact that you don't let me push you around all the time. I like your T-shirts, the fact that you've read more than me, and the way you act around my mom. I _don't_ like your hair, that weird sweater you wear, and the fact that half the time you act like I'm annoying the hell out of you. But, you know," she said, looking at him sideways from underneath her lashes, "the list of Michael-pros is still longer than the list of Michael-cons."

"Oh." Michael let out the breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Well, I guess I could stop wearing the sweater. It's getting kind of warm for it, anyway."

"Thanks."

He sighed. Might as well get it all out. "And you don't annoy me, Maria, and… and ifIactlikeitImsorryandIwontdoitanymore."

This time, when she demanded a kiss, Maria didn't pull away.

It was roughly an hour later before Michael spoke again. "But," he whispered, his hand delicately tracing patterns onto the smooth skin of Maria's back, "my hair stays just like it is."

From her perch on his lap, Maria snorted.

X:

Isabel Evans was genetically programmed to be a hunter. Like most animals of prey, she wasn't particularly introspective—what she wanted, she took, and when she was displeased, she lashed out. She was only vaguely aware of concepts like "other people's feelings" or "consequences". This was always true of Isabel, but especially so in the case of her current quarry: one Alex Whitman, dedicated guitarist, die-hard computer geek, and best friend extraordinaire.

Leaning against a tree with the regal, native grace that was so much a part of her every movement, Isabel took a moment to scope out her intended victim. He sat at a table across the quad, surrounded by his little pack of friends. _Damn_, thought Isabel with intense irritation, Alex's fiercely protective playmates had already made her plan ("Operation: Corner, Subdue, Interrogate") far more work than it should have been.

All in all, it had been a frustrating week for Isabel. She had _just_ managed to corner Alex in the library on Tuesday when Tess seemed to appear out of nowhere, slipping her arm through Alex's. "I'm so sorry, Isabel," Tess had cooed, "But could I just borrow him for a minute? Thanks, byeeeee!" And Isabel had seen neither hide nor hair of Alex for the rest of the day. On Wednesday she had arranged to "accidentally" bump into him in the halls. All was going according to plan (that is, she had rounded the corner mere inches from Alex's startled face) when Kyle's jock reflexes kicked in. "Whoa, there, Isabel," he'd said, easily grabbing Alex by the arm and jerking him out of her path, "See ya around." But by far the most irritating encounter had occurred yesterday at lunch. Alex had been by himself for once, sitting under a tree clutching a book and nibbling on an apple. Isabel had zeroed in on him like a heat-seeking missile, stalking through the little groups of Roswell students with her unique alien princess-on-a-mission stride. She paused for just a moment to enjoy his expression—Alex staring up at her, his blue eyes wide—when Maria interfered.

"Whoopsie," the small blonde sang, "I've just been spilling things on everybody recently, haven't I?" She dabbed ineffectually at the huge, sticky soda stain spreading over Alex's pants. "C'mon, Alex, let's go get you cleaned up! Bye, Isabel!"

_Maria,_ Isabel thought viciously, _should really give up on that acting dream. She sucked._

Isabel surveyed the little group of people she currently thought of as opponents. Michael lay sprawled on the grass, sound asleep, one arm bent under his head and the other curved loosely around Maria's waist. Maria leaned against his side, painting both her nails and (very cautiously) his. Tess and Liz sat a few feet away, idly playing cat's cradle. Kyle was reading, his long body draped across the picnic table bench. Alex sat cross-legged atop the picnic table. All of the girls seemed to be talking at once and, judging from their lecturing expressions and Alex's pained one, they seemed to be telling him something he didn't want to hear. Isabel moved nearer as she tried to catch the gist of their conversation.

"…girl is so not good for you…"

"…this kind of relationship... unhealthy, really…"

"…what's with you and… blond, statuesque fixation, or what?"

_Well, well, well_, thought Isabel. They were lecturing Alex on his unhealthy fixation on blonde, statuesque girls? Things were looking up. She slipped closer, straining to hear, a slight smile tugging at her mouth. Maybe Alex wasn't as far gone as she'd thought.

"…just think that you should avoid Isabel right now," Maria was saying, "We're doing this to protect you from the dangers of a rebound relationship, doormat-boy. After all, you just broke up with Leanna…."

_Leanna? Who was Leanna? When did Alex START dating her? And why did he stop?_ Isabel stood perfectly still, struck, for the first time, by little she really knew about the dark-haired boy she usually thought of as "her" human.

"Operation Capture, Subdue, Interrogate" was suddenly looking a hell of a lot more difficult.

XI:

Max Evans was genetically programmed to be a worrier. Like most people in a perpetual dither, he wasn't particularly decisive. When he wanted something, he worried about every possible outcome of getting it, and when he was unhappy about something, he fretted about the consequences of fixing it. Like his sister, Max was only vaguely aware of concepts like "other people's feelings"—this, however, was largely because he couldn't spare the time to worry about their feelings on top of everything else. This was always true of Max Evans, but particularly so in the case of his dealings with the two young women in whose direction he was currently staring—Tess Harding and Liz Parker, once sworn enemies, currently partners in a seriously complicated game of cat's cradle.

Max slumped against a similar tree to the one his sister had just vacated, his shoulders drooping under the weight of the world. His lovely dark eyes took in the peaceful scene across the quad. Some people might call it idyllic—Max called it downright freaky. The much-abused worry center of his brain quivered into action. Why did Alex look unhappy? Why was Kyle reading at lunch? Was he failing a class or something? Max couldn't add tutoring Kyle to his list of things to do! How could Kyle be so irresponsible?! And—oh, no. WHAT was Maria doing to Michael's hand? Michael was gonna KILL her! He'd probably use his powers to do it, too, which would expose them all, and then Max would have to fix everything.

Then Max saw Liz and Tess. What were they doing? They were passing something back and forth. Was it an alien artifact? Oh, God, or the destiny book? Maybe they were going to start arguing about it—in public! What was he going to do? Max moved closer, ready to leap into the fray, his eyes straining to see what they were holding.

It looked like a bit of string.

But was it _alien_ string?

He moved a little closer. Nope, nothing extra-terrestrial about it—it was just string, thank God. Feeling that the world could (probably) keep spinning for the time being even if he took a few minutes off, Max sat down at a table and took out his lunch, keeping half an eye on the little group sitting in the sun. He was just finishing his sandwich when the group's conversation seemed to pick up volume. He should go stop them, Max thought with a long-suffering sigh. Grabbing his stuff, Max moved quickly toward his friends. They better shut up before they woke up—

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS CRAP ON MY HAND?"

Max winced.

"Iced Plum, I think," Tess was supplying, helpfully. "Hey, is that part of Clinique's spring line, Maria? I like it."

"Yup," Maria responded, poking her head out from her hiding spot behind Alex, then prudently retreating.

"It really brings out your eyes, Michael," Liz said, calmly picking out a new pattern in the string.

"I agree," said Tess. The two girls smiled at one another, their grins widening when Michael sent them a glare that would probably reduce most people to tears.

"How the hell do I get it off?! Maria, tell me you can remove this, or so help me God—"

Maria crept out from behind Alex, her eyes angelic, her lovely mouth sad. Her whole posture communicated overwhelming sorrow. "Well, Michael, I kinda lent my remover to my mom and she said she'd put it back, but she doesn't seem to have actually done that yet…"

"IZZY!" Michael stalked off in search of his sister. She would be capable of removing every trace of Iced Plum Nail Polish from his person—he hoped. (Luckily, Isabel seemed to be quite nearby.) After praying fervently that no one caught Isabel working her alien mojo on Michael's pale purple fingernails, Max dismissed the incident from his mind, his eyes once again focusing on the unprecedented sight of Liz and Tess swapping a child's game back and forth.

For the last few months, Max's relationships with these two young women had been powerfully reminiscent of a game of Pong—an endless ricochet. One of them would do or say something, and Max would bounce away, drifting slowly toward the other. The vision of Liz and Tess sitting peacefully together, their lovely heads bent close to one another, would have inspired most teenaged boys to dream of a time when the three of them could legally enjoy a closer, more intimate friendship. It would have inspired some boys (but not many) to hope that if the two girls bonded, they just might leave him alone.

It just made Max Evans worry.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks for the reviews, guys!

XII.

Friday night, everyone felt, would be the perfect night for SATAN's first official angst-free sleepover. (Everyone, that is, except for Michael—he thought maybe they should all go to an angst-free monster truck rally instead. In the spirit of fairness, this option was carefully considered. Then Maria hit him upside the head, and the motion was declared defeated.) The Sheriff and Amy were heading off on their first overnight camping trip, and their children felt they needed all the moral support they could muster.

Junk food was purchased, videos were rented, necessities were packed, and the group gathered on the Valenti front porch promptly at eight PM, fully prepared to do their club duty. Tess, who took her job as Activities Coordinator very seriously, whipped out a clipboard.

"Is everyone present and accounted for?" She surveyed the group, and made a little note on her board. "Okay, people. If everyone will just step inside, we can begin. Kyle will show you where to put your things. We'll reassemble in, say, five minutes."

"Aye, aye, Capt'n Tess," Kyle muttered.

"I heard that."

ooooo

"So, what'd we get?" Michael poked through the heap of grocery bags stacked on the dining room table. He'd rather die than admit it, but he was almost as nervous about this little shindig as Tess. He had never been to a sleepover before. Somehow, the handful of nights he had spent in Maria's bed didn't seem quite like slumber party material—and he was pretty sure that crashing on Max's floor to avoid his drunken foster father didn't count.

"I brought Twister," Maria purred, batting her lashes at him. "Feeling limber, Spaceboy?"

"Ugh," Kyle grimaced, elbowing Michael out of his way. "I am _so_ not playing that game with you two horndogs. Hey, Whitman! Where'd you put the Cheetos?"

An hour later, what began as a friendly game of Twister had become a passionate battle to the death between Alex, Kyle, and Tess. Maria and Michael had been banished to the kitchen with strict instructions to bake cookies and stay out of trouble, and Liz (the only person the group felt could be trusted not to cheat) had been declared the referee.

"Damn!" Alex tried to wrap his leg around Kyle's arm, teetered, and crashed to the ground. He lay there for a moment, panting. "Ow... seriously, guys, I think I sprained my spleen."

"There's ice in the freezer," Tess informed him, easily maintaining her balance in a perfect back-bend. Rubbing his side, Alex ambled off to the kitchen. His distant, disgusted cry of "Hey, gross—knock it off, you two!" could be heard as the door swung shut behind him.

Tess and Liz exchanged a look. With a slight, encouraging smile, Liz murmured something about helping Alex separate Maria and Michael and disappeared. Tess and Kyle were left alone, tangled up in one another's limbs, their quiet breathing the only sound.

No doubt there are many attractive, unattached, sexually frustrated teenagers on this planet who could play a healthy game of Twister with a person of the opposite sex (whom they had admitted they were already attracted to) without experiencing any uncomfortable sexual tension.

However, neither Tess nor Kyle was one of them.

Their first kiss (gentle, exploring, lovely) might have lasted longer if Michael Guerin, wearing a "Kiss the Cook" apron and holding a platter of cookies, hadn't appeared in the doorway. "Hey, Maria," he bellowed, "C'mere and check this out—and he called US horndogs!"

Michael was suddenly assailed by two Marias—the real one and the one that Tess sent at him in a furious mind-warp. Both whacked him over the head. "Shut up, idiot," the real Maria hissed, grabbing Michael by the hand and dragging him down the hall. "Sorry, guys. Um, carry on."

They did.

Things were moving along quite nicely when they were interrupted for the second time. After knocking softly, Maria's blonde head poked back around the doorframe. "Sorry to interrupt," she said, eyes fixed politely on the ceiling, "But when you've, er, _finished_, Tess, Liz and I have laid out all of the paraphernalia we need for some serious girls-nighting. And you get to be the guest of honor, 'kay?"

"Okay," breathed Tess, her mouth millimeters from Kyle's. "Be... right... there...."

ooooo

"So," Liz was carefully painting her toenails a pretty shade of what they all now called "Michael-purple". "You and Kyle, huh?"

"I guess," Tess smiled at her toes, currently painted silver. _They were pretty_, she thought. She had pretty toes. The thought made her giggle.

"Ish about time," Maria slurred, her mouth full of cookie. "Sho, are you shtill gonna torture Ishabel?"

"What?"

"You mean you didn't notish?" Maria swallowed. "Isabel's practically foaming at the mouth. I think she's convinced that you've set up a harem. One with two badly dressed, out-of-tune, mega-dorky love slaves named Kyle and Alex."

Tess frowned. _Could Isabel get any weirder?_ "Y'know, I think Isabel trusts me about as much as I trusted Courtney. As if I'd try to take Alex."

Liz, who had borne the brunt of Isabel's rather unreasonable jealously before, patted Tess on the shoulder sympathetically.

Maria, who recalled fondly Tess's methods of dealing with the unfortunate Courtney, gave her an affectionate hug.

"For that matter—as if I could," Tess said, warming to her subject. "He's still totally sprung on her. Sweden, my ass." Liz and Maria nodded solemnly. Then Tess sighed. As Activities Coordinator, obviously this was up to her. "I hereby move that we, the assembled female members of the organization tentatively known as SATAN, focus our efforts on making the extra-terrestrial drama queen known as Isabel Evans realize just what she's missing out on with Alex. Any 'aye' votes?"

Liz and Maria's arms flew up like a Nazi salute.

Tess smiled. "Motion carried. Now let's get to planning—"

"But," interrupted Maria, "First we need to hear about you and Kyle, sweetcakes. Time to share..."

ooooo

"So," Michael's long fingers pounded on the buttons of the Super Nintendo controller he was clutching. "You and Tess, huh?"

"I guess." Kyle smiled at his cowboy boots. Tess had worn them once, walking out to get the mail. They'd looked huge on her pretty feet. _She had such pretty feet...._

Alex grunted. "About time. God, stop staring at your stupid feet and pay attention to the game, Valenti!"

Nothing further was said. These were guys, after all.

XIII.

"What are you guys _doing_?" Alex hissed, trying unsuccessfully to bat Liz's gel-coated hands away from his hair. "And why are you doing whatever it is to ME?"

"Hold still, Alex," Maria instructed. "Let the girl work, would you? And _God_, where did you buy this shirt? It has got to be the ugliest thing I've ever seen." She briskly began to unbutton Alex's black and white overshirt, revealing the simple black T-shirt underneath.

"But we're in the GIRLS' bathroom!" Alex wailed.

"I put an out-of-order-sign up," Tess assured him. "Now sit down and let us see, okay?"

"You guys are all nuts," Alex muttered, folding his arms. "I'm telling Kyle and Michael."

"Oooh, we're shaking."

"Don't be such a baby," Liz said firmly, shoving him down. "This is for your own good."

"WHAT is?!"

"Um… we'll tell you later."

Alex heaved a sigh, giving up. He knew when he was beaten. Three pairs of eyes critically surveyed him from head to toe. His hair had been artfully mussed, drawing attention to his beautiful eyes and bright, interesting face. His clothes were simple and flattering, accenting his long limbs and wiry strength. He looked great. Sulky, but great.

"…he'll do." Tess said finally.

"Now," Maria announced briskly, "Listen up, Alex. In twenty minutes, you are meeting Amanda Roarke in the library. She will be interviewing you for the school paper regarding the growing popularity of your oh-so-originally titled band, The Whits. You will be cool, calm, and full of dry, caustic comments. Think Christian Slater in the first half of _Heathers_, got it?"

Alex nodded, eyes suddenly wide. He knew Amanda Roarke—everyone did. She was friendly, goofy, bright, and very, very pretty. She didn't identify with any particular crowd, but her good looks and offbeat intelligence had made her one of Roswell High's acknowledged princesses. And, as Maria and Liz very well knew, she had always been Alex's number-two crush—right behind Isabel Evans. "Really?"

"Really," Liz said gently, smiling at him.

"Wow!" Alex's expression was a comical mixture of nervousness and excitement. "What am I supposed to say? What's she gonna ask? Do you think…"

ooooo

As Isabel Evans began her daily promenade through the halls of Roswell High, a most unwelcome sight stopped her in her tracks. Alex Whitman was walking toward his fourth period class, looking terrifyingly un-dorky, and apparently deep in conversation with Amanda Roarke. Amanda was laughing at something Alex was saying, slipping her arm companionably through his. Isabel's horrified mind tried (and failed) to fully grasp what it was seeing.

"Hey, who's that with Amanda?" One of Isabel's hangers-on strained to identify the tall boy wandering down the hall.

"Oh, that's Alex Whitman," Tess said cheerfully, suddenly appearing beside Isabel. "He's a friend of mine—plays guitar for The Whits."

"He's in a band?" The lackey hesitated for a moment, and then hurried down the hall after Alex and Amanda.

Tess smiled up at Isabel, whose stunned look was rapidly turning furious. Tess knew she had to act fast. "Aren't Alex and Amanda cute together? I hope she asks him to prom—I know he's still sad about the thing with Leanna. Who are you going to take, Isabel? Hey, there's Kyle! Gottagobye!"

Feeling that the proper seeds had been planted, Tess ran to catch up with her boyfriend.

ooooo

_Where the hell were Maria and Liz? _Isabel stalked through the hallways, her eyes scanning the little crowds for her prey.

There they were, the traitors.

Isabel swooped down on the chatting pair, catching both of their arms in a less-than-gentle grip. She marched them into an empty classroom and slammed the door shut behind her. "Just what," she hissed, "Have you two DONE?"

Liz and Maria stared at her, their faces pictures of bewildered innocence.

"Um, Isabel?" Liz's voice was hesitant. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Alex." Isabel's tone was freezing. "Why did I see him wandering the halls with Amanda Roarke?"

"It worked!" Maria began jumping up and down. She and Liz launched into their top-secret-best-friends-forever-handshake.

"_What_ worked?" Isabel ground out.

"Our plan, silly!" Maria looked positively gleeful. "We've been sooo worried about Alex—he's been depressed ever since he broke up with Leanna. So Liz and I set him up with Amanda. They'll be beyond adorable together!"

"Yeah," Liz nodded. "We were worried that we'd never be able to top Leanna—you should see her, Isabel, she looks like a model—but Amanda's perfect. He's had a crush on her forever. Where did you see them?"

"In the hallway," Isabel felt a little seasick, as though the room had suddenly started spinning. "On the way to history."

"We gotta go see!" Maria grabbed Liz's hand and darted from the room. "Bye, Isabel! Thanks for letting us know!"

Isabel sat, abruptly, in one of the classroom chairs, feeling really sick now. His two best friends thought that Alex would be better off with Amanda. When they'd been busily shopping for a rebound girlfriend for him they hadn't even considered her, Isabel Evans, the girl he'd adored for years! Amanda could never give him the kind of relationship he'd had with Isabel! Why, she'd probably...

...tell him they could be more than friends, Isabel thought miserably. Not expect him to always be there for her while she made it clear that she offered no such commitment to him. She might even find the time to listen to his music or go see one of the old movies he loved.

Isabel slumped in the chair, her beautiful head falling back. If she wanted Alex, she realized, some things were gonna have to change.

XIV.

"Hey, Alex." Alex ignored him. This was understandable—Max Evans's voice hadn't carried further than a few inches. God, he _really_ didn't want to do this...

...but he'd promised Isabel. "Alex," he said again, this time in a normal voice. The boy in question turned, saw who was speaking, and made his way across the hall.

"Hiya, Max. What's shakin'?"

Max swallowed. "Um, are we going to Prom?"

Alex started laughing. "It's damn sweet of you to ask, Max, but I wasn't planning on it. Which one of us would get to lead during 'Stairway to Heaven'?"

Max blinked. Then he blinked again. "Oh," he said, finally getting it. "No, I meant: are the eight of us going to Prom?" Max squinted, trying to recall the script Izzy had drilled into him over the breakfast table. "Because I think we should. Y'know, keeping up appearances and all that. Yeah.... Um, and you should ask Isabel. I don't think she's accepted anyone yet, even though she's had tons of offers." Iz would kill him if he forgot that last part.

Alex stared at him curiously. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Great," Max said with relief. He hadn't screwed it up _too_ badly—he hoped. "You do that. Gotta go."

Alex watched Max's retreating form for a moment. Then the irony of Max Evans trying to play matchmaker struck him and he snickered all the way to his next class.

ooooo

Kyle Valenti and Michael Guerin stared thoughtfully at the prom fundraiser poster looming over the cafeteria.

"They'd probably die of shock," Kyle said slowly, his eyes not moving from the poster.

"They'd probably jump us, man." Michael always thought of the practicalities.

"Huh." Kyle pondered. "Y'know, you're right. There _is_ the jumping to be considered...."

Michael sighed, tipping his chair back to get a better view of the poster under debate. "If we asked them," he mused, "We could probably get away without wearing those stupid outfits."

"True, very true," Kyle nodded sagely.

Michael closed his eyes in resignation. _The things he did for Maria._ "Look, I'm up for this if you are. And Whitman can take Liz. We get all gussied up, make asses of ourselves for a few hours, and reap the jumping-benefits for weeks before and after the actual hideous event."

"Works for me. God, the things I do for Tess..." The pair stood up, assumed expressions of incredible nobility, and set off to ask their girlfriends to prom.

ooooo

Isabel carefully re-applied her lip gloss, staring hard at the girls' bathroom mirror. In exactly twenty seconds she was going to walk out the graffiti-coated door, turn left, and walk forward twenty-four paces. There she would encounter one carefully prepped Alex Whitman, who would blush, stammer, and eventually ask her to prom.

Isabel was planning on accepting graciously.

That was the game plan, anyway. It might have worked, too, if three girls hadn't already surrounded an increasingly irritated-looking Alex, all tugging on his shirt.

"But you HAVE to," Maria was whining.

"No one else knows how..." Liz let her voice trail off, her eyes huge and heartbreaking.

"Pleasepleaseplease?" Tess begged.

Isabel was not amused. She had just opened her mouth to issue an icy greeting when Michael and Kyle rounded the corner. Both bore a startling resemblance to Joan of Arc on her way to the woodpile.

"Michael and I have decided," Kyle announced piously, "that as your boyfriends it is our duty to ask you to prom." Michael nodded, looking martyred.

"Really?" Tess gasped, taking Kyle's hand. "That's so sweet! Thank you!"

Maria toyed with the button of Michael's shirt, smiling up at him. "Yeah, thanks, Spaceboy..."

"...but no thanks," the girls said in unison, stepping back toward Alex. "We're gonna go with Alex!"

Two genetically altered aliens and one genetically altered human froze. Alex growled.

"He can dance!" Tess said happily. "I've never been to a dance with someone who could actually _dance_ before! We're all gonna go together! And we'll dance, and drink punch, and dress up!"

Liz and Maria nodded enthusiastically, ignoring the increasing volume of Alex's growl. "I wouldn't put you through that unless I had to, Michael," Maria said sweetly. "I know school functions aren't your thing." She patted his cheek fondly. Michael still looked stunned.

Kyle was the first to recover his voice. "...but the jumping benefits," he whispered, eyes tragic.

"What was that, Kyle?" Tess looked confused.

"...nothing."

Alex decided that now was the time to make his stand. "I," he said, speaking slowly and clearly, "AM NOT GOING TO PROM. I have NO money, NO time, and NO DESIRE TO GO. How am I supposed to afford four tickets? And three corsages?! The music will suck, the food will cost a fortune, and the girls will look like hookers and the guys will look like penguins! For the last time: _NO. WAY_." He turned to make his escape and almost crashed into Amanda Roarke, who smiled sunnily up at him.

"Hey, Alex! I couldn't help overhearing, and I totally agree. I'm on the Prom planning committee, did you know? And we've been talking about having an anti-Prom this year! A Morp! Tickets will be really inexpensive, and you can just wear whatever, and the music will be totally funky. More 'I Will Survive' than 'My Heart Will Go On'." She hooked her arm through his, inexorably drawing him down the hallway. "I'd love to hear your ideas..."

Everyone stared after them. Tess was the first to speak, turning to her club sisters. "Hey, it could still be fun. Does Alex know how to disco?"

XV.

The PA system cackled to life, startling the student body out of their end-of-the-day stupor. "Good afternoon, students. We have some exciting news regarding the traditional May formal. This year, instead of the usual Prom, we will be having a 'Morp'. Tickets will be five dollars and dress will be seventies-theme. The dance will be held at the Roswell Reception Hall and Ballroom. We encourage you to get creative with your clothing, flowers, and transportation. Have a great weekend, Roswell High, and think hard about who you'd like to invite!"

_Got that covered_, Isabel thought sourly as she shifted in her library chair. If she thought any harder, her brain might melt. But no matter how hard she thought, her tired mind just offered her one solution. And she really, really, _really_ didn't like it.

Isabel Evans was going to have to ask a boy on a date.

This was, of course, the twenty-first century, and Isabel fully believed that women were capable of turning the traditional boy-ask-girl tables. It was just that she, the acknowledged queen of Roswell High, had never had to do so before. If she wanted a boy, she smiled at him. Then he collapsed, drooling, at her feet.

She kept smiling at Alex, but he was remaining distressingly upright and drool-free. He sat across from her, head bent over a book, scribbling notes. He'd said "hello" when she sat down, "sure" when she asked to borrow a pencil, and "peachy" when she'd asked how he was doing. He had said nothing about dances, her gorgeous new 'Hey, Alex—ask me to Morp!' outfit, or his eternal, undying love for her. She was gonna have to buck up and do it herself. _Now, how did boys do this? _

"Um... Alex?"

"Mmm-hmmm?"

This was harder than it looked. "Are you are you going to that dance thing?"

Alex glanced up at her, and then his eyes returned to the notebook he was scribbling in. Isabel noticed, though, that his note-taking had disintegrated into mindless doodling. "Wasn't planning on it. I don't know if I can escape Maria, Liz and Tess, though."

A ray of hope slanted through Isabel's heart. "Well, what if you had another date? Wouldn't they give up then?" Maybe she could get away with making this seem like she was doing Alex a favor!

Alex wasn't playing. "...no," he said slowly. "No, I don't think so. And if it really makes them happy, I guess I'll go."

_Damn_. Isabel took a deep breath. It was like diving off the high dive—don't think, just do it. "Itwouldmakemehappytoo."

"Uh, what?"

She closed her eyes. "It would make me happy, Alex, if you would go to Morp with me. It would make me even happier than Maria, Liz and Tess, I'd imagine."

"...I don't know." Alex's voice was quiet.

"Please?" Isabel absolutely could not believe what was coming out of her mouth. _Stop, mouth,_ she said to herself. _You're making a fool of yourself._ "It would be fun. No pressure, I promise."

Alex's pen had begun a nervous tapping on his notepad. "Well," he said slowly. "I would, but—look, Maria and Tess have Michael and Kyle, right? I'll go with you if you'll help me get Max to take Liz. And she has to have a good time, no Chicken-Little-end-of-the-world crap." He finally looked up at her, his eyes searching. "I'd really like to take you, Isabel, but I'm not gonna abandon my friend. She'd be great about it, but—"

"I understand." Isabel's smile was gorgeous. "I can do that, Alex."

"Great." Slowly, Alex held out his hand, palm up. Isabel placed her own inside it, trembling slightly. "Then I'd love to go."

ooooo

Michael Guerin was awakened rather early on a Saturday morning by the feeling of a small fist tapping insistently against his skull. "…get _up_, Spaceboy…" He blearily opened his eyes and saw a hazy vision of Maria scowling down at him. _Hey, look_, he thought, _it's a dream-Maria. How nice. Cmere, dream-Maria._ He wrapped his arms around her waist and settled back down for several more hours of sleep.

"…said, GET UP…"

_This particular dream-Maria was exceptionally noisy_, Michael thought sleepily. _And kinda violent_.

The dream-Maria pulled all the blankets off him, and turned into a real-Maria. "WAKE UP!"

Michael's eyes snapped open. He was FREEZING. "God, Maria! What the hell do you want? And what time is it?" He yanked his blankets out of her reach and collapsed back on the couch cushions.

"I want you to take me to the dance."

"You've gotta be kidding." Michael opened one eye to squint up at her and discovered that she was not, in fact, kidding. "Sorry, blondie—one time offer."

"C'mon—please?"

"…what about Whitman, Lord of the Dance?"

"He's going with Isabel," Maria informed him, grumpily. "So I need a date. Tess is gonna tell Kyle that he's taking her, and apparently Alex and Isabel are having Max talk to Liz. That leaves me and you, Spaceboy." She bit her lip and stared down at him. "Please, Michael? I really want to go."

Michael closed his eyes—he never lasted long against Maria when she started biting her lower lip.

"If we go to the dance..." Maria whispered coaxingly, reaching out to trail her fingers over Michael's flat stomach, "I'll go with you to the dirt bike rally in two weeks."

Michael didn't open his eyes, but his voice was low, husky. "...dressed as a biker bunny?"

"Hmm," Maria considered it. "I'll wear the leather jacket and boots, but no chains, bad eye shadow, or studded bras."

"Deal."

They shook on it.

ooooo

Tess and Kyle were eating breakfast alone. The Sheriff had taken one look at their delicate morning meal of chocolate puff cereal and Tabasco-spiked milk and muttered something about being needed at the station.

"But, Dad," Kyle paused, a spoonful of soggy brown lumps swimming in pink milk hovering in front of his mouth, "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day!"

Gagging slightly, the Sheriff fled.

Tess snickered. "That was downright cruel, Kyle."

"He made me eat his pancakes for years. Wait 'til you try them, Tess. They could be used as Frisbees." They ate in silence for a minute. "Speaking of sports..." Kyle's voice trailed off.

"We were?"

"Well, y'know—Frisbees, sports—it's a natural progression."

"Okay. So, what would be the next step in this natural progression?"

"Uh, dancing, actually."

Tess's eyes rose from chasing down the last pieces of cereal with her spoon. "What about dancing?"

"Well," Kyle began. _Was there any non-embarrassing way to say this?_, he wondered. _Probably not_. "I know how to disco."

She didn't laugh. Not yet, anyway. "Really? Where'd you learn?"

"Not like Whitman," Kyle assured her hastily. "Maria and Liz made him take tons of lessons with them. He can probably re-enact any given scene from _Dirty Dancing_ on command. I just—well, we kinda had this scary PE teacher in sixth grade. You know how most teachers make you learn how to waltz or square dance or something? Well, Ms. Heinz was a little obsessed with the film career of John Travolta, so we..." He stopped speaking and closed his eyes, lost in the painful memories. "Anyway, if you really want to go to that Morp thing next weekend with someone who can dance, then my offer still stands."

"I'd like that, Kyle." Tess's voice was soft. He glanced up at her. Her gaze shone with sincerity. Relieved, he nodded, grabbed their empty bowls, and headed for the kitchen.

Tess couldn't hold it in any longer. Choking with laughter, she began a desperate hunt for the phone. She had to call Maria right away and find out if any pictures of Kyle's elementary school disco inferno had survived.

ooooo

Sunday was Liz Parker's absolutely favorite night of the week: Homework night! Admittedly, most of her nights involved at least a little bit of homework, but Sunday was the official evening set aside for cranial self-improvement. Maria and Alex had learned long ago not to call on Homework night. Very occasionally, they would join her for a major study fest, but since Liz's routine was absolutely unshakeable (and, her friends felt, more than a little bizarre) these sessions were few and far between.

Liz smiled down at her three freshly sharpened pencils, mug of tea, and plate of sliced carrots and bananas. Brain food, her Grandma Claudia had called it. She slid her slightly battered Smiths 'Singles' CD into the stereo, lit three candles, and settled down for a soothing evening of pre-calculus, American literature, and advanced chemistry. She loved every step of her routine—it soothed her. Comforted her like nothing else could.

That's why when Max Evans slid through her open window, her first feeling was one of intense irritation.

But this was Max Evans—pain was sure to be a close second. Liz quietly, regretfully, set down the pencil she was holding, closed her book, and raised her eyes to his. "Yes, Max?"

Max's dark eyes gazed longingly at the young woman sitting before him for a moment before his gaze dropped to the floor. "Hello, Liz," he whispered. Izzy had promised him that this would work, that she would say yes, that he wouldn't hurt anyone. "Um, I'm sorry to interrupt. I was just wondering..."

Liz waited. "...wondering what?"

"Would you—would you go to the dance with me?"

Liz had no idea what to say. Here was her dream—Max Evans, asking her to prom! Ever since their first kiss, Liz had harbored a secret fantasy involving the pair of them drifting around a ballroom, elegantly dressed. He'd bend down and whisper his love for her, and she'd glance up through her lashes, demure as a cat—

But she was pretty sure her SATAN initiation vow precluded teen-movie style angst-filled school dances. Oh, God, what should she do? Inspiration struck. "Could you just wait one second, Max?" Without waiting for an answer, she dashed from the room, sprinting for the downstairs phone. With shaking fingers, she dialed Maria's cell number.

"Hello?"

"Hey, chica—it's me."

"Liz?! But it's homework night!"

"I know, I know. Listen, Maria—Max is here and he wants to go to the dance with me and I really wanna go, but not if it means I get kicked out of SATAN—sowhatdoIdo?" Liz's voice had sped up so much that the second half of her sentence was almost unintelligible.

"Well, you don't hyperventilate, babe. That's never the answer. You really want this?" Maria sounded thoughtful.

"…yes."

"Then go," Maria said firmly. "But you've got to promise to have fun. No fun, you bail, got it?"

"Great!" Liz felt a little giddy. "ThanksMariabye!" Slamming the phone back on the receiver, she tore back up the stairs.

Max was sitting on her bed, looking a little lost. "I can go!" Liz announced happily. She beamed at her ex-boyfriend.

Max smiled. It lit up his face. "Great. You'll have a nice time, Liz. I promise you." They sat in silence for another moment, both feeling a little shy. Then Max caught a snippet of the music whispering out of Liz's stereo. "Hey, is this the Smiths? 'Girlfriend in a Coma'? I love this song—you know, it really helps me study...."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Many thanks for the reviews...

XVI.

It was not, everyone agreed, an _emergency_ meeting. ("Emergency" was a word the members of SATAN were trying to eradicate from their vocabulary.) It was more an all-female-members-of-SATAN-better-get-to-Maria's-house-stat! meeting.

Tess was stressing. Big time.

"In exactly nine hours," she intoned hollowly, "We will all be meeting at the park. Kyle will be wearing a black leisure suit and a cobalt blue shirt. He will look perfect. I know this because I went through his stuff. I also know that Isabel will be wearing a vintage black leather cat suit. She will look like a sex goddess. I, on the other hand, will show up wearing exactly what I am now. I will look like a total idiot. And you know what? There's nothing to be done about it. I am currently," she checked her watch, "eight hours and fifty-eight minutes away from total dorkhood. Goodbye, dating an adorable football captain—hello, social ostracism." Closing her eyes, Tess laid down on the floor to await her fate.

Liz crouched down beside her and patted her comfortingly on the head. "It's not that bad, Tess. I don't have an outfit either, and you don't see me freaking, do you? We have lots of time."

"Sure we do. All of eight hours and..." another glance at the watch, "Fifty-six minutes."

Standing up, Liz's features settled into a purposeful, determined expression. "All we need is someone to tell us where we can find a couple of flattering seventies-style dresses. It can't be that difficult."

All eyes shifted to Maria, who was idly playing with the sleeve of her paisley dress (circa 1974) and gazing out the window. Feeling the force of two stares boring into her shoulder blades, she looked up. "...what?"

ooooo

"Welcome, my disciples, to the hallowed halls of Value Village." Maria's arms swept out in a grandiose gesture of welcome. "Supplier of fine vintage clothing to discerning fashionistas like myself." She abandoned the grand manner, grabbing Liz and Tess's arms in an excited grip and bouncing toward the women's section. "This is great! I've been trying to drag Lizzy here for years. She's spent the last decade decked out in stuff from the ultra-boringest shops at the ultra-boring mall."

Liz was unperturbed. "I prefer to think of myself as having classic taste."

"Ooh," Tess's eyes were wide. She'd never seen quite so much tacky stuff in one place before. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yup." Maria grinned. "A Garfield-shaped bong. Just what every household needs. Now focus, chicas. We need to find your outfits, wash them, get ready, eat, and prettify ourselves. That gives us an hour here, tops. Go forth, divide, conquer."

It took a little longer than planned, but within the allotted time span the three girls were crowded into the Deluca bathroom, swapping lip gloss and boosting one another's self esteem. "This isn't just a different sort of idiocy, is it?" Tess twisted to get a better view of the back of her newly acquired pale blue mini-dress. "I'm not trading in boring modern dorkiness for exotic vintage dorkiness, am I?"

"You look great," Liz assured her, leaning forward to outline her eyes in kohl. She was wearing a black halter dress. Her hair fell in loose waves to the middle of her back and she wore delicate gold lace-up sandals on her feet. Maria nodded her agreement, jockeying for a position in front of the mirror.

"If you say so," Tess said doubtfully. "I'm just not sure I'm comfortable going to my prom in a four-dollar dress and white go-go boots."

"At least you're going with a guy who you know likes you." Liz sighed quietly, capping her eyeliner.

"Yeah," Tess's voice was tinged with the slightest hint of bitterness. "Kyle likes me—after weeks of parading around him in nothing but his jersey. But he would have done anything for you. Still would, probably. What does that say about me?"

Maria sighed. Time to put her foot down. "All right, kids, listen up and listen good. You," she pointed her mascara wand at Tess, "Look fabulous. Best damn four dollars ever spent. Kyle will drool. And you," the mascara wand transferred to Liz, "Are going to prom with a man who is pathetically in love with you. Revoltingly so, in fact. And as the ranking member of SATAN, I say that this conversation is swerving disturbingly close to angst. You guys feel like being tickle-tortured by Alex?"

"No, ma'am," Tess and Liz said in unison. Their eyes met in a flash of mutual apology as Maria pushed them out the door.

ooooo

Alex stood in the little clearing in the park wearing a dark green suit and a black ruffled shirt. Maria and Tess burst into giggles when they saw him, but he regally ignored them. He managed to maintain his Zen-like composure until he caught his first glimpse of Isabel, slinking into the park wearing her black cat suit. Then his glazed, deer-in-headlights look was only shaken by a grinning Liz's sharp poke to his side. "Here," he said, smiling slightly and offering Isabel a slim red envelope. Looking puzzled, she shook its contents onto her palm. A temporary tattoo slipped out, featuring a silly, seventies-style cartoon cat face.

Maria, Tess, and Liz held their breath.

Isabel looked thoughtful for a moment and then smiled beautifully. "Thanks, Alex. It's perfect." She handed him a single flower, which clashed horribly with his outfit. Undeterred, he tucked it into his lapel. Isabel reached out a tentative finger. At her touch the flower seemed to tremble, darkening until it matched the black of Alex's shirt. "There," she breathed, "Now you're perfect, too." Alex blushed.

Kyle snuck up behind Tess, wrapping his arm around her waist and presenting her with a 'No war!' button. She laughed, attaching it to the small bag she carried, and handed him a miniature disco ball keychain.

Maria and Michael stood slightly apart from the group, hands linked. They didn't exchange anything. Michael wore black from head to toe—his only concession to the seventies theme was the wide cuffs and lapels of the untucked button-down shirt he wore. Maria wore gold flared trousers, black boots, and a black sleeveless t-shirt that read 'Disco Queen' in wide gold letters. Her hair was in a simple knot at the base of her neck and wide gold cuffs adorned her wrists.

Max and Liz gazed longingly at one another from opposite sides of the picnic table. Max, of course, just wore a slightly dressier version of his normal clothes. Like his sister, he offered Liz a flower. She tucked it behind her ear. They looked up at one another. Then they looked down at their shoes. Then they looked up again. They were hovering on the brink of a tortured-soulmate-staring contest when Maria decided to intervene.

"Sah... sah... _satan_!" She sneezed, sending Liz a warning glance.

"Oh, yeah," Liz stepped back, giving herself a quick shake. "Here ya go, Max." She tossed him a small white box. Looking curious, Max lifted the lid. There, nestled on a bed of white cotton, was a vintage tin smiley face button. It looked a little off, somehow. Max squinted, trying to figure out what was different about it. "Tess fixed it," Liz informed him happily. "See its cute little chin and the eyes? It's an alien smiley face button!"

Max smiled. Weakly.

ooooo

The eight of them stood at the doorway of the Roswell Ballroom, staring in awe at the giant disco ball and the dozens of bizarrely dressed Roswell High students enthusiastically dancing to the final strains of 'Y.M.C.A.'. As the song ended, the hall filled with a vaguely familiar beat.

"Oh. My. _God_." Maria breathed. "Lizzy, Alex, it's our song!" Grabbing her two oldest friends by the hand, they darted onto the dance floor before anyone else had even begun to identify the music beginning to pump out of the speakers. Kyle, a little better versed in disco music than his companions, listened closely for a moment and then began to laugh.

_I believe in miracles_

_Where ya from? You sexy thang_

_I believe in miracles..._

XVII.

_You won't admit you love me_

_And so_

_How am I ever_

_To know_

_You only tell me_

_Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps_

"This is like Evans's theme song," Kyle muttered to Maria as they danced to Cake's deadpan cover of the Spanish language classic.

Maria snickered, beginning to sing along. Her voice was considerably more melodious than the lead singer's.

_A million times I ask you_

_And then_

_I ask you over _

_Again_

_You only answer_

_Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps_

Michael and Alex leaned against the wall. "So," Alex said, idly swirling the drink he held in his hand, "What'd Maria bribe you with to get you here?"

"Biker rally. She agreed to about half the outfit. If I dance two or more dances, I get to pick out her shirt." Michael scowled, remembering their bargaining session. He had no doubt that if he failed to dance (and at least fake enjoying it) Maria would show up to the rally in a floor length ski jacket.

"Good deal," Alex mused. "Wish I'd thought of it. Isabel could have been my date to the _Red Dwarf_ convention next month." He thought wistfully of the lost opportunity. "Damn."

Michael slapped him on the back. "It's never too late, man."

Alex looked thoughtful. "I guess."

_If you can't make your mind up_

_We'll never get started_

_And I don't wanna wind up_

_Being parted_

_Broken hearted_

Tess and Isabel leaned over the sink in the ladies room, fixing minute imperfections in their makeup.

"So," Tess inquired, "You and Alex having a good time?"

"I guess," Isabel replied nonchalantly.

Tess's eyes narrowed. _Gonna have to do better than that, princess._ "That's nice," she replied, voice casual. "Did you hear that Amanda Roarke came stag? I wonder who she was hoping for?"

Isabel's back shot poker-straight. Without a word, she dashed out of the bathroom.

_So if you really love me_

_Say yes_

_But if you don't, dear,_

_Confess_

_And please don't tell me_

_Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps_

Max rested his cheek against Liz's silken hair. "I love this song," he said dreamily.

Liz listened to the lyrics for a minute. Then she stomped on his foot. Hard.

ooooo

Alex drifted across the floor, Isabel lightly clasped in his arms. She'd practically dragged him onto the dance floor a few minutes ago. The look on her face had startled him, but he was keeping his mouth shut—he didn't know what had happened to put the light of battle in her eyes, and while he found it deeply sexy, it was also a little frightening. He glanced around the ballroom. Liz and Tess, both looking determined, were dancing with Kyle, who was blushing a furious shade of red as he tried to teach them some basic disco steps. Maria was resting for a minute, collapsed in Michael's lap. Michael had his arms wrapped around Maria's waist. He appeared to be laughing at Max, who seemed to be nursing an injured foot. Alex was just wondering what had happened—Liz was usually such a graceful dancer—when a tug on his sleeve distracted him.

"Hey, guys!" Amanda Roarke looked lovely in a simple green mini-dress. Isabel looked, if possible, even more ferocious. "Mind if I cut in?"

Alex opened his mouth.

"Yes," Isabel replied firmly. Not letting go of Alex's hands, she marched off the dance floor. Alex cast a look of apology over his shoulder at Amanda, who looked a little confused.

Isabel finally stopped, dragging Alex behind a tall potted palm tree. "Alex," she said fiercely, "Would you like to go out with me next Friday? We could go see that new sci-fi movie."

Alex blinked. Several times. "Well..." he said slowly, "That depends."

"That _DEPENDS_?!?" Isabel's voice was glacial.

Alex grinned. "Yep. It depends on your feelings about sci-fi conventions."

XVIII:

Kyle was practically skipping. "That was _great_," he announced, bouncing several feet ahead of Tess as they walked home from the dance. "Where am I gonna put this thing? On my trophy shelf? With my medals? Whaddaya think, Tess? God, I love winning stuff!"

Tess struggled to achieve a serious, thoughtful expression. _Do not laugh_, she told herself. _He's a sensitive sort of boy_. "Well," she said, carefully choosing her words. "I don't know if it would really blend in with those, Kyle. It's so… colorful."

Looking a little hurt, Kyle clutched his newest prize to his chest. "You don't like it."

"No, I do! Really! It's lovely! Just very… glittery. And shiny. And… and large."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"I said I liked it!"

"...really?"

"Really."

"I knew you would!" Kyle returned to his bouncing, "Isn't it just the prettiest trophy you've ever seen?"

Tess eyed the object cradled in Kyle's arms. It had been made from a used pair of women's platform sandals, spray-painted gold and liberally smeared with green glitter, nailed to a board. The board had been covered with silver foil and read "King of the Disco" in elaborate gothic script. (Kyle's little disco-dance class had expanded from her, to Liz, to roughly half the junior class. The vote to elect him Morp King had been almost unanimous.) "Ah, sure, Kyle. Absolutely."

Kyle beamed—he couldn't remember when he'd had more fun. "I didn't realize how competitive dancing could be," he said excitedly, reaching back for Tess's hand. "We could join a dance class and kick everybody's sorry asses! We'll win a ton of stuff! I'll ask Whitman about it tomorrow!"

Tess smiled down at their linked fingers. Kyle had said "we". Twice. Just hearing it made her feel kind of tingly. She was so happy that she generously decided against her earlier plan of "accidentally" melting his little prize into a tasteful fruit bowl.

ooooo

Michael and Maria had been the first to bail, slipping away from the dance well before the rest of the group. They had ended up at Michael's apartment, where Maria had immediately pulled off her knee-high boots and curled up on the couch, laying her head on Michael's lap. He stretched out his long legs, fingers raking slowly through her hair, and shut his eyes.

"So," Maria began, her own eyes slowly closing. "I just got one dance, Michael. Should I call that a forfeit? Cause I'm tellin' ya, I've got this really great ski jacket…" Yawning, she didn't bother to finish the threat.

Michael snorted, but didn't open his eyes. "Whatever you say, Blondie. Sure will get toasty with both a ski jacket _and_ my leather jacket on, though. Or did you think I'd forgotten about that?" Much practice enabled him to avoid wincing when he felt Maria's tired-yet-still-painful jab to his arm.

"Look," she murmured, "How about we compromise?"

"...meaning?"

"Meaning," she said with a sigh, "That if you get to choose what I wear to the rally, you also have to help draft Max and Isabel into SATAN. Liz and Alex are gonna set up their tests tonight."

"You mean—go behind the backs of the closest thing I have to family on this planet and emotionally manipulate them, all for the sake of seeing you in a skanky shirt?"

Maria smiled sleepily. _Things would be much easier with a spy in the enemy camp_, she thought with satisfaction. "Yep."

Michael mulled it over. He thought about his respect for Max, his friendship with Isabel. Then he thought about Maria's collection of halter tops. "Well—okay."

ooooo

Alex and Isabel drove home through silent city streets, The Cure whispering out of the stereo. "So," Alex said, fiddling with the volume, "I had a good time."

Isabel smiled wanly. "Good. So did I."

"Ah, you sure? Because you seem a little down," he said, swallowing nervously. "You don't really have to go to my convention, you know."

"I'm just tired." Isabel looked a little surprised. "I guess I'd forgotten how tiring having fun is. I think I'll sleep well, for once. And I said I'd go, so I will. You'll have to explain _Red Dwarf_ to me, though."

Alex grinned. This was the SATAN-testing opportunity he'd been waiting for—and really, the ultimate test of any relationship. He didn't think he could truly get serious about a woman who didn't appreciate _Red Dwarf_. "How about a video marathon? I've got them all. We could watch the best of each season."

"I'd like that. I think. Er, there won't be any six-breasted alien sex, will there?"

"Aw, c'mon... okay, we can fast-forward through those parts."

ooooo

Max Evans was still hobbling. He hobbled to the jeep, hobbled home, and hobbled Liz up to her door. Privately, Liz felt he was being a little dramatic. He could just have Iz heal it when he got home. Still, she thought, she should probably apologize. "I'm really sorry about your foot, Max. I guess I didn't realize how dangerous these shoes could be."

Max tried to look manly and indifferent. "It's nothing, Liz."

Liz narrowed her eyes. "You sure?" She bent down and poked at the injured appendage. He squeaked. "Uh, whoops."

Max pulled his sore foot safely out of reach. "No, really, I'm okay." He hesitated, hoping she wouldn't accidentally inflict any more pain. He wasn't certain how to deal with this new, unpredictable Liz. "Ah—I had a great time tonight."

Liz smiled up at him. "Me too. We should do it again sometime. Only without the foot injury."

Max stared at her in confusion. "Go to Prom?"

"No," Liz sighed, standing up. "Just go out. You know, Max, some people do go out, have fun, and come home. Some don't even make a huge deal out of it." She turned away from him and started searching for her house keys.

Max blinked. Was Liz mad at him? A memory of their first date last year flickered through his mind. Ah, he'd better humor her—see what was wrong. After all, he was responsible for them all, right? "I'd like that," he said, voice quivering slightly. "Um, how does next Thursday sound? We don't have school on Friday."

Liz looked suspicious. "Are you serious?"

"Uh, yes?"

Her eyes lit up. "Okay!" She stretched up, brushed her lips over his, and slipped inside. Max, dazed, pressed his fingers to his lips. He barely heard Liz's: "Thanks—I had fun. See you on Monday!"

Max felt like he could float home... until the throbbing in his foot registered, and he hopped on one foot back to the Jeep.

IXX.

Alex was laughing so hard he could barely breathe. "A camera!" He gasped. "My kingdom for a camera!"

"You will pay, Whitman," Kyle muttered, as Alex's laughter finally slowed to a weak giggle, punctuated by the occasional hiccup. "Oh, yes, there will be much suffering in dorkville."

"Oooh, watch me tremble with fear." Alex paused. "Okay, I'm done."

Kyle tried to look menacing, despite the fact that he was currently wielding a nail polish wand dripping with sparkly pink paint. He failed. Miserably.

"It's your own fault," Maria chimed in helpfully. "Next time don't make fun of Alex when he performs a necessary service for those of us who are not ambidextrous. Remember, Lizzie's feet are next."

"Be careful, Kyle," Tess cooed. "The thumbnails are the hardest part."

Kyle growled. He should have stayed in bed. But SATAN duties called—the group was meeting in the park for a post-prom debriefing. Then he'd been promised a game of touch football. Everything had been going according to plan… until Maria, having finished painting the nails of her left hand, nonchalantly handed the little bottle to Alex, who immediately began spreading paint over the nails of her right hand with the ease and familiarity of an experienced manicurist. Michael had taken in the sight, snickered, and strolled over to the picnic table to stuff his face with donuts. If only, Kyle thought tragically, if only he had just followed that fine example....

Instead, he inquired as to when, exactly, Alex had had his balls cut off.

The revenge of the females had been swift and sure. Within seconds, Liz had thrown the Nerf football at his head, Tess had punched him in the shoulder, and Maria (who hadn't joined in the physical punishment because her nails were still wet) was calling for a club vote.

SATAN members voted five-to-one in favor of having Kyle not only finish Maria's nails but also offer his services as a beautician to any other SATAN members who required it.

"Oh, you're smudging it," Tess complained. "Here." She waved her other hand over the offending splotch of paint, making it disappear. "This is great, Kyle! I've never had my nails painted by someone else before."

"Really?" Maria asked, admiring her own fingertips. "What about at birthday parties and stuff?"

"Never been to one," Tess said absently, focusing on her hands. It would be considerably faster to do this herself, she reflected. But not nearly as much fun—

"YOUVE NEVER BEEN TO A BIRTHDAY PARTY?"

Tess blinked. "Well, Nacedo never let me get to know any other kids, and he wasn't really the type to plan theme parties himself, so I never went. Then I missed Isabel's party last fall because of the—well, you know. Why? Are they a big deal?"

Maria reeled. She'd been so remiss in her SATAN-duties....

"When's your birthday, Tess?" Liz's voice was calm, but there was a tread of urgency in her voice that matched the wild look in Maria's eyes.

"Uh, in two weeks. According to my paperwork, anyway."

"Okay, we'll just rectify the situation then," Liz said firmly. "Sound good to everybody?" The guys nodded solemnly, struck by the enormity of Tess's deprivation. Even Michael had a small birthday celebration each year, usually out in the desert with Max and Isabel. Liz shot a "we'll plan later" look at Maria, who nodded.

Alex, noticing Tess's uncomfortable expression, tactfully changed the subject. "So, Michael," he said, "I tried the compromise-slash-bribery approach with Isabel. Worked like a charm."

"Yeah? What'd she agree to?"

"A _Red Dwarf_ video marathon," Alex grinned, happily returning the congratulatory high-fives of Liz and Maria. "Thursday night."

"What's _Red Dwarf_?" Kyle, Tess, and Michael inquired in unison.

Alex, Liz, and Maria goggled at them. When Alex finally spoke, his voice trembled with pity. "...you've never seen _Red Dwarf_?"

"No."

"...but it's the best thing to come from England, like, ever!" Maria exclaimed, eyes wide.

Liz nodded. "Way better than wool."

"So, it's a TV show?" Michael asked.

"It is," Alex announced, "The epitome of British comedic television. You all must watch it," he ordered. "At once."

"Well," Liz mused. "Max and I were gonna go on a date this week. Hey, Alex, how would you feel about making your date into a group thing? We could all come over and watch the tapes together. It would be way more fun than our typical Saturday night hour-o-paranoia."

Alex thought about it. "I'd feel favorable. Hey, maybe while we're watching you guys can help guide Max and Isabel toward the glories of SATAN." He paused. Then his eyes began to shine with an unholy light. "But you know what would _really_ put me in a celebratory mood?"

"What?"

With a deft flick of his ankles, Alex kicked off his sneakers and wiggled his toes at Kyle. "A little festive color."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

All done! Thanks so much for the kind reviews, you guys! I particularly appreciate the people who mention reading this story when I originally wrote it (approximately 1,000 years ago). It's really nice to hear that my first story made an impression, and I hope you guys enjoyed reading it again.

XX.

Most people, thought Alex Whitman, casting a discreet glance at his almost-but-not-quite girlfriend's lovely profile, would be smiling about now. A healthy portion of them would be snickering. A select few would be mopping the tears of hilarity from their cheeks.

Isabel Evans hadn't so much as twitched.

Firmly squashing his fond memories of his first (rapturous) brush with _Red Dwarf_, Alex began compiling a mental list of Isabel's virtues. Her intelligence, her beauty, her civic spirit. Her excellent posture—which currently looked a little military. Yeah, those were all good. She had many fine qualities. He didn't fall in love with her, Alex sternly reminded himself, because of her sense of humor.

_Which is good,_ a tiny, disloyal voice whispered in his mind, _because she doesn't seem to have one_.

_Shut up, Voice_, Alex commanded. _This is Isabel Evans we're talking about_.

_Oh, yeah?_ The voice offered an immediate rebuttal. _Well, this is _Red Dwarf_ we're talking about. Your favorite TV show since age nine, remember? How can you be so disloyal to something that has supported you throughout the grim years of puberty? Isabel Evans may come and go, but _Red Dwarf_ will always be there, man. _

Alex whimpered, clutching his hair in agony. It was a situation no red-blooded, sci-fi loving teenage male should ever have to face.

Isabel might have been a bit perkier if she had been processing even a tiny portion of what was flickering on the screen in front of her. And she might have been processing if she wasn't so busy being totally pissed off. And she might not have been so pissed off if Alex had remembered to tell her that this little shindig was going to be a group affair, rather than the intimate little tête-à-tête she had been expecting. But he _hadn't_ told her, so she was pissed, so there was no processing, and, thusly, she was Not Amused. Instead, she sat bolt upright and practically quivered with rage. How dare he—a GROUP DATE? Did he realize that she had turned down SEVEN dates for this evening?! And what the hell was up with this show, anyway? She glared at the actor on screen, who seemed to be lecturing the other characters while dressed in drag. And Alex thought this was a good date show? Was he on crack? "I don't get it," she announced grumpily, folding her arms across her chest. She looked toward her only surefire ally. "Do you, Max?"

Max gave a guilty start, jerking his eyes away from Liz's dark hair. Naturally, he'd been staring at her, rather than the TV set. But he couldn't let his passions get the better of him, he reminded himself tragically. Liz was obviously trying to tell him something by turning their date into a group hang-out situation. He cast a surreptitious glance at the screen. "Uh, well, the guy in the dress is crazy," he offered helpfully.

His sister looked at the screen again—the man was now talking to a little penguin puppet. The puppet seemed to be talking back. "Gee, thanks, Max," Isabel muttered. "You should be a sportscaster—offering up-to-the-minute information on the back of Liz's head."

Max glared. "Oh yeah?" he began—

"Shut up." Michael cut off the Evans siblings' bickering with a single steely-eyed glance. "I'm watchin' this. It's actually not too bad, Whitman."

"This is terrible," Maria whispered to Kyle.

"What is?"

"Look at them." She pointed at Max and Isabel, who were currently dividing their attention between glaring at one another and staring at their respective significant others when they thought no one was looking. "We have to help them loosen up or Liz and Alex will die virgins."

Kyle thought this over and came to the conclusion that there was only one way the unfortunate Evans siblings could be helped. "If you're hatching a plan to slip 'em some booze, I won't have anything to do with it," he whispered back.

Maria looked thoughtful. "Hey, Alex," she whispered, poking the lanky boy, "Where do your parents keep the—"

"Keep it down!" Michael glared at them. Maria and Kyle stuck their tongues out at him.

Liz felt a little uncomfortable. She really wished Max would stop staring at her. She used to think it was sweet, but recently it just seemed weird. What exactly did he think the back of her head was going to _do_—suddenly form a mouth and start speaking in tongues? Tap dance? _Knock it off, Max_, she silently willed the tall boy sitting behind her. It didn't work. She glanced over at Alex. What was wrong with him? He looked like he was in pain. _Whoa_, Liz thought, _check out the death looks Isabel is shooting at him. Better get the boy out of harm's way. _Standing up, she yawned noisily. "Hey, Alex," she said, "Could you go with me to grab some pillows?"

Thankful for the distraction, Alex scrambled to his feet. The two of them picked their way to the hall, earning a glare from Michael when they blocked his view. "Thanks," Alex whispered. "It was getting a little tense in there."

"What did you do to Isabel, anyway? She's more frightening than usual."

Alex looked a little sheepish. "I kinda forgot to mention the "group" part of this date. But hey, what about Max? If his fixation with your hair gets any creepier we may have to stage an intervention."

"I know," Liz sighed as she grabbed a pillow off of Alex's bed. "Look, we'll just watch each others' backs, okay? I'll stop Isabel from ripping your eyes out if you make sure Max doesn't start hacking off my hair to take home as a souvenir. Deal?"

"Deal." Feeling much more secure, they stomped back down into the living room, ignoring the growl emitting from Michael.

"I wanna pillow," Maria decided. "Can I go get one, Alex?"

Michael's growl increased in volume.

"Me, too," chorused Tess and Kyle. "Jinx!" They shouted in unison, exchanging goofy-looking grins.

The growl was very loud now.

"You know, it would have been really considerate of you to have offered _me_ one," Isabel said, her eyes narrow. "But you're not exactly Mr. Consideration today, are you, Alex?"

"Liz," Max said nervously, gazing deep into her slightly wary brown eyes. "Uh... would you mind if... would it be okay... I mean, could I... maybe braid your hair?"

"THAT'S IT," Michael roared, surging to his feet. "Whitman, pause the VCR! You," he pointed at Max, "Have fetish issues. Talk to your shrink about them. You," his finger moved to Isabel, "Are being psychotic. So Alex didn't call—so what? It's probably the only time he's ever failed to be the perfect girly-man. So stop bitching. And as for you two," he glared at Tess and Kyle, whose hands had been wandering. "Ugh. Get a room." They tried, and failed, to look repentant. "And you three," Michael said to Liz, Maria, and Alex, "Well, you three are okay. But everybody needs to shut up, sit still, and stop pissing me off! Is that clear?"

Seven heads nodded vigorously.

"Good." Michael sat down again. "Now rewind a little and start it again, Alex."

As the show progressed, attention slowly began to fixate on what was happening. Isabel stopped scowling, and actually snickered at one particularly ridiculous fight scene. Encouraged by the snicker, Alex tentatively reached for her hand. After a tense moment, she generously decided not to blow his head off. Max continued to divide his gaze between Liz's hair and the screen, but as he paid more attention to what was going on with the show Liz's hair began to seem less and less fascinating. This was a huge relief to Liz, who eventually propped her pillow up against his legs and rested her head on it, fairly confident that he wouldn't get creepy. When Max carefully shifted his legs to make her more comfortable but didn't make any attempt to engage her in a long, meaningful stare, Liz was conscious of a warm, glow-y sort of feeling, the kind of feeling she hadn't experienced around Max for several months. Tess and Kyle had twisted around one another like a human pretzel, but since they kept any lust-fueled giggling fairly quiet no one cared. Maria had curled up like a cat against Michael's side, but she had already seen these episodes numerous times so she began to drift off to sleep. Michael sat silently, his gaze riveted to the screen. Occasionally, a series of tremors would pass over his sternly handsome features that looked vaguely like a smile. Once he actually grinned.

Things were looking almost idyllic until halfway through the sixth episode, when the all-too-familiar feeling of terror reared its ugly head.

A strange sound filled the room—raspy, like sandpaper on metal. It seemed to be coming from Michael. Seven terrified pairs of eyes shot toward the messy-haired alien.

"Oh, my God, he's having an asthma attack!"

"Shut up, aliens don't get asthma. Maybe he's choking."

"CHOKING?! Does anyone know CPR?!"

"CPR is for people who have stopped breathing, dorkface. We need that that German thing. Heil something."

"The Heimlich?"

"Yeah! Somebody wrap their arms around his waist and start squashing."

"Don't look at me—I'm not hugging Michael. When he got better he'd squish me like a bug."

"Somebody HELP him! He's gonna die!"

Michael stopped making the raspy noise. He leveled his Ultimate Death Glare upon them all and cleared his throat. "I was LAUGHING, you halfwits."

"...oh."

"Sure."

"We knew that."

Everyone was then very, very quiet until Alex's watch beeped. As he pushed the little button, Alex and Liz exchanged a long, even look. This was it—the full incorporation of the group. They turned toward their unsuspecting significant others, who were innocently watching TV, and fervently hoped they weren't making a mistake. "Isabel, Max?" Liz began, nervously clearing her throat. "We need to talk to you."

"Take it outside," Michael interrupted. "And keep it quiet out there, too." He pointed at the screen, which was currently rolling through the ending credits. "But hey, Whitman, before you go—got any more of these?"

XXI.

This birthday party thing, thought Tess Harding crossly, had gotten way out of hand.

When Maria and Liz had first suggested it, Tess had simply thought: _Oh, how sweet of them to offer. Should be fun. _

She had been _so_ naive. A perfect innocent....

She hadn't understood that her simple "Okay" would result in day after day of her closest friends ignoring her, avoiding her, banishing her from the room. If she heard one more cheery "Sorry, Tess—we're planning. Can you take off?" she was gonna blow up. (Or maybe blow someone _else_ up. Whichever was more cathartic.) And now, at nine o'clock in the evening on her birthday, after being virtually ignored for the last two weeks, she was being frog-marched down the hallway toward her bedroom by Kyle and Alex. "If either of you two morons jump out of a cake," she announced, "There will be hell to pay."

Alex snickered. "Oooh, somebody's grumpy."

Kyle patted her cheek. "She's so damn cute when she's pissy, isn't she? Alright, babe—we just need you to head on in and follow instructions. Yell when you're finished, okay?" And with a gentle shove, Tess was alone inside her room. Again. Somebody was soooo gonna pay for this.

A neat pile of clothes was stacked on her bed, with a note pinned to the front that read "WEAR ME" in simple block print. Still scowling, Tess spread the soft fabric out over her unmade bed. It was the weirdest party outfit she'd ever seen—a sky blue, button-down dress with a little white collar and cuffs, a white apron, white stockings, and little black ballet slippers. Tess considered rebelling and wearing a slinky backless number instead—but the block printing on the note had looked vaguely like Isabel's handwriting, and nobody on this planet (or any other) was stupid enough to argue with a direct party-related order from Isabel Evans. Sighing deeply, Tess pulled her sweater over her head.

She was just struggling to tie the apron behind her when a knock sounded at her door. "Are you decent?" Alex inquired, sticking his head in. "Great. Let's go."

Tess stood still for a moment, suddenly feeling less neglected and much, much more nervous. "...Alex? Am I going to regret not climbing out the window when I had the chance?"

Alex, much to his credit, looked sympathetic. "Well," he said slowly. "Think of it this way. You've got Maria, the idea girl, Liz, the planner, and Isabel, the unstoppable force, all focused on giving you the theme party to end all theme parties." Tess looked terrified. "Uh, maybe that was the wrong thing to say. Let's try the tough love approach, shall we? If you run now they'll just hunt you down. And to help with that," he smiled, producing a long black strip of cloth, "I promised Isabel I'd blindfold you."

Dear God.

ooooo

Where were they? Tess itched to pull off the blindfold. They'd been in a car, and walked for awhile, and she'd felt the night air, and now she was somewhere warmer, but she could still smell things growing—

"Is everything ready?" Commando Isabel was issuing orders. "Good. Kyle, remove her blindfold."

Tess felt Kyle's gentle hands working at the knot tied against the back of her head. She blinked hard as the cloth slipped away, her eyesight adjusting to the sudden burst of light much faster than her brain was able to adjust to the bizarre sight in front of her.

They were in the Roswell Botanical Gardens, an enormous greenhouse built in the shape of a giant X. They stood in the central garden of the four prongs, a large diamond-shaped patch of lush grass edged by delicate flowers. An oversize table had been set up in the middle of the lawn, crowded with what looked to Tess like... tea pots? And—she _had_ to be seeing things—there seemed to be a hefty pile of pink plastic flamingos heaped next to a bag and some silver U-shaped things—

"Do you get it?" Maria was practically quivering with excitement. "You're Alice in Wonderland!"

Tess stared at her. "When you said 'themed birthday party' I thought you meant you'd buy me a paper Barbie tablecloth. Maybe matching plates."

"Well, we thought about it," Maria said happily, "And Alex and Kyle argued hard for Chuck E. Cheese, but when Isabel joined SATAN, well, she helped us all see the light! So we came up with the Alice idea, and Izzy pulled some strings to get us in here late at night—she knows everybody—and Max and Michael worked some alien mojo, and here we are! We've got the tea stuff, and we're gonna try to play the croquet game—Izzy made Michael paint tennis balls to look like hedgehogs—and then we can have cake, and you can open your presents!" She looked thrilled enough to turn cartwheels.

"Okay." Tess managed a nod, not really hearing the "Happy Birthday" congratulations her friends were offering her. They'd worked so hard. And it was perfect—the ultimate blend of weirdness and fun. Tears welled up in her eyes. She didn't deserve friends like these. She wasn't worthy of SATAN, she should just—

"Here." Kyle shoved one of the plastic birds into her arms, oblivious to her regression into angst-ville. "We're partners for flamingo croquet, babe. So get practicing, 'cause I plan on winning."

Tess looked down at the flamingo she was now clutching. She took a practice swing. It made a satisfying swishy sound as the flamingo's head brushed the grass. What had she been thinking about? Huh. She couldn't remember. Oh, well.

ooooo

After a rousing game of flamingo croquet (after he and Tess won, Kyle bored them all with a play-by-play recap until Isabel threatened to melt his newly prized mallet into poisonous Pepto Bismol) they moved on to competitive musical chairs, tea-party style. The rules of the game were simple—whenever anybody felt like switching spots, everybody had to either get up and move or try and defend their spot. None of the food was allowed to be moved, so whoever managed to actually eat a full meal was the winner. Michael won that one by simply sitting like a rock as everybody shoved, poked, and prodded him. (Once they'd given up in disgust he happily polished off all of the food in sight.) The boys were just stuffing the last of the cake in their mouths when Liz and Maria approached the table, ceremoniously carrying brightly-wrapped presents in their arms.

"Happy birthday, Tess Harding," Liz said, smiling at her. "Thank you for letting me be part of SATAN." She bent, gracefully stacking the four gifts she carried in front of Tess.

Tess suddenly remembered what she'd been thinking about before the flamingo-distraction. Her tears returned, with friends.

"No crying," Maria said hurriedly, pushing her pile of gifts into Tess's lap. "Here, babe, open these. That'll make you feel better. It always works for me."

Sniffling slightly, Tess reached for the gifts in front of her. She couldn't help but be a little cheered by the sight of them. She was only human—okay, she wasn't, but she imagined some things were universal. She unwrapped a book of Christina Rossetti's poetry. "That's from me," Liz said. "Try _Goblin Market_—it's kinky." Tess grinned at her—she and Liz had discovered a shared love for weird poetry. Next she opened Isabel and Max's gift—a tasteful and extremely expensive-looking bracelet. She imagined them picking it out together, choosing only the best for someone they saw as their almost-sister, and smiled at them. Alex gave her a devil duckie that looked and squeaked just like a regular rubber duckie, but was bright red and sported little horns and a leering expression. She promptly named it after him. Michael and Maria pooled their funds and bought her a vintage _Barbarella_ lunchbox. "To our very own interstellar sex goddess" read the tag. "Thank you," said Tess with unfeigned delight. "It's just what I've always wanted." She opened Kyle's gift last. Two incredibly gaudy silver platform shoes glinted up at her, nestled in a bed of pink tissue paper. "They're for our dance lessons," Kyle explained, looking extraordinarily proud of himself. "I've signed us up at Pam's Disco Parlor!"

Tess looked down at the shoes, looked over at her boyfriend's shining face, and smiled.

XXII.

The party was very, _very_ over. It had ended approximately two and a half minutes after the toast. Liz, the only human capable of driving Tess's monster vehicle, had loaded her four otherworldly charges into the back, strapped them into their seats, and was last seen driving off down the road with a long-suffering look on her face. The alien foursome in back were last _heard_ launching into the second verse of '99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall'.

Kyle, obeying the correct laws of jock party etiquette, had spiked the punch.

"I cannot believe you did that," Maria hissed, emphasizing each syllable with a furious poke of the crumpled paper plate she was clutching into Kyle's chest. "_You_, who knew what would happen! You—you—ARRRGHH!!!"

Words, apparently, failed her.

Kyle took this for the flashing-lights-and-shrieking-sirens warning sign that it was, and prudently ran away. From a (reasonably) safe position behind Alex, he peeped at her over their friend's shoulder and tried to explain. "Uh... I'm sorry, Deluca. I thought it would be funny."

"And it was," Alex reassured the trembling jock huddled behind him. "I laughed."

Maria's growl, remarkably similar to Michael's, picked up in volume. The boys both took a step back. They tried not to make any sudden movements that might agitate her, just like they'd seen on the nature channel.

Maria's face twitched. Then it crumpled. With a wail, she collapsed on the velvety green grass of the central garden. "It was only funny, you jerks, because you two aren't dating weepy drunks!" She covered her face with her hands. "All that happened to you guys and Liz was that _your_ significant others got more affectionate than is really socially acceptable. But Michael—oh, God, I am soooo never gonna live this down...."

Kyle snorted with laughter, dropping to his knees and assuming a fairly close approximation of the tragic, lovelorn expression that had been on Michael's face—a look they had all been introduced to pretty much the second he'd lowered his cup. Wrapping his arms around Alex's knees, he began speaking in a high, squeaky voice. "Ooooh, Maria... I loffffff you... you're beautifullll... and I'll never-ever-_ever_ leave youuuuuuuuu..."

Alex roared with laughter. Barring the voice, Kyle's imitation was word-for-word accurate.

Shrieking incoherently, Maria threw everything she could find at the snickering duo. Finally, she dumped two pots of cold tea over them both.

"Hey!" Alex squeaked, wiping a cold rivulet of tea out of his eyes. As one, he and Kyle lunged forward and tackled Maria, bringing her to the ground. Alex sat on her while Kyle, who was humming the Death Star theme song and dripping, picked up a teapot and began to threateningly wave it ever closer to her head....

ooooo

An hour later, the three founding members of SATAN were stretched out on the grass, peering up at the night sky through the wavy glass ceiling, air-drying, and making fun of one another's love lives.

"So how _are_ things going with you and the ice queen, Alex?" Maria inquired pleasantly.

"Don't start, little miss. Don't make me bring up Michael's little love speech again—"

"Sorry, sorry."

"Perfectly all right," he gallantly assured her. "We can just pick on Kyle together. How are the dance lessons looking, jockman? You're gonna be taking... ballet, was it?"

"Disco," Kyle said loftily. "And I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Alex snickered, miming the motion of a whip cracking with one hand.

"Hey!" Kyle protested. "I am NOT whipped one! I'll have you know that the lessons were my idea. _Tess_ is the whipped one! I'm the whippee!"

Total silence fell as Kyle thought about what he had just said. He tried to think of a good way to fix it, somehow, but eventually accepted that it was futile.

The silence stretched into minutes. It was eventually broken when Alex lazily propped himself up on his elbows. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "Life is good."

"...yup."

"...mmm-hmmm."

"And it's all due to Ryan Matthews."

"...and his grabby hands," Maria finished.

Kyle snickered. "Heard he'll never be having children. Way to go, Maria."

"Thank you, thank you." Maria waved her hands, graciously acknowledging the cheers of imaginary thousands.

"We should probably thank him," Alex grinned, closing his eyes as he dropped back against the grass.

Maria sat up suddenly, a very, very, very evil grin on her face.

ooooo

Two days later, Ryan Matthews was _extremely_ disturbed to receive the following note.

"Mr. Matthews:

We are contacting you regarding your recent act of Lust. Your revolting, lecherous attack upon one of Roswell's most delightful young women (and, hands down, it's best waitress) has swelled our Dark Ranks. Know that your actions have not gone unnoticed, and that one day you shall be justly rewarded."

It was signed "Love, SATAN", and marked with eight little happy faces, all sporting tiny horns.

*End*


End file.
